Game of Thrones-Renly's Shadow
by TheGrandXia
Summary: The lands of Westeros are strife in war; as Four Kings rage war over the land. King Renly mans his host from the Stormlands; as he is met with one Catelyn Tully to discuss terms with the King in the North. But, what if the shadow child never appeared before him? Themes from Game of Thrones obviously! TV-Verse with best elements from ASoIaF. Reviews greatly appreciated!
1. Catelyn I

All she could see was the boy he had always been: the overly-excited, happy child he always was. Now he sat before her, scratching away his signature into a peace treaty she had given him. His green armour echoed his past excitement; but the beast behind him showed his new colours. Short, blonde hair lay before her face; dark almond eyes watched her every move. Catelyn shuffled nervously in her seat, as Renly raised his chin to meet her gaze. _Just like Robert_ she thought: his black hair and growing beard down his cheeks and chin. His eyes glowed blue; like the seas beside Storm's End.

Brienne of Tarth is what they called her. Brienne the Beauty; was a more mocking jape. Her frown was the worst aspect; as if she was judging her for something she didn't possess inside her. What unsettled her even more was how she held her sword: not unlike Robb, but more like the Greatjon Umber, the towering oaf that he is, but a worthy banner-man.

"So, Stark and Baratheon will unite once again" Renly smiled; a reflection of the boy inside. '_I could have never foreseen him sit upon the Iron Throne' _Catelyn thought.

"Just like Ned and Robert" Catelyn smiled pleasantly. Renly beckoned Brienne to pour them wine, and so she did. It was not strange to see a woman doing a job like this; but she wasn't a woman: she was a man in a woman's body. She had no grace as she poured; unlike the handmaidens that flocked behind Lady Margaery's skirts. Brienne grunted as she slammed the flagon onto the table, and returned to her station of protection; happily holding onto her sword like a babe to a rattle.

Renly grasped his glass jovially: as did Catelyn: so he pronounced:

"To Lord Eddard Stark, a good man, and the beginning of my cause" he downed his wine in once, and flexed his elbow for Brienne to pour more. She looked more like a mummer's farce than a knight; sporting the Tarth colours and the Rainbow Cloak of Renly's own Rainbow Guard.

"To Ned" Catelyn smiled mournfully, but drank nonetheless. '_The drink may ease my spirit'_' she thought. Thoughts of her husband's head mounted above the walls of the Red Keep still haunted her dreams; even though she knew that Eddard Stark's head and bones were being transported to Winterfell by a pack of Silent Sisters.

"And to my late brother; the big fat oaf that he was!" Renly howled, and downed his drink, spitting up drops of purple liquid onto the table. He wiped his mouth "Don't worry, Cat, I loved my brother nevertheless!"

"To Robert" Catelyn said faintly, sipping the wipe from the rim of the goblet.

"On the morrow; I will crush my brother's host, meet with your son, and within a fortnight I shall crush Tywin Lannister and take the Iron Throne for my own!" Renly stood; quickly meandering throughout the tent to a mirror. "Brienne, remove my armour; I wish to rest up early before the ensuing conflict" Catelyn noticed a slight smirk through the dusty mirror.

Brienne the Beauty seemed almost melancholy as she untied the laces tying together Renly's chainmail. She removed it from his chest and placed it around the mannequin; mahogany with a helm already resting: antlers (like the Stag of House Baratheon). A heavy wind sailed across the tent that cut straight through Catelyn; enticing a low draft.

"Fetch my surcoat, Brienne; it's suddenly become quite chilly" Renly moaned. '_Still the boy I remember_' Catelyn reminisced; as Brienne placed the coat over his shoulders.

The moon was rising to its potential outside before Catelyn left the King's Tent. Brienne of Tarth followed her outside; still with that dead look. Two other Rainbow Guards look at her with smirks behind their byrnies; but Brienne paid no attention. A slight rain must have fallen while she was speaking with the self-proclaimed king; as small puddles of muddy water stuck her feet to the ground. It took her multiple minutes to reach her tent; smaller yet conveniently draped in the Stark and Tully colours.

She dipped her head as she entered, and lowered her hood as she was greeted by the sudden heat. A small fire was billowing before a spit-fire; smoke rising through a small flap at the top of the tent. An alcove led off into what she assumed would be a bathing area and bed; so she called some waiting Tyrell servants from outside to fetch her some water.

Catelyn disrobed, folded her dress and fetched a robe from a small basket in the corner of the bathing alcove. A tub sat waiting at the centre; barren and freezing in the autumnal air. Catelyn sighed; but seconds later a bush of roses flocked into the room; flagons of warm water almost falling from their little arms. One poured; then another, a standard routine clearly taught in the holds they grew up in.

One caught Catelyn's eye; a young girl; barely older than six-and-ten; with smooth, spruce hair and deep, brown eyes. '_The Forrester Girl_' Catelyn realised. The girl turned; and was almost taken aback by her liege lord's wife's appearance.

"Lady Catelyn" she bowed deep to the floor; her nose almost rubbing the cotton carpets.

"I do believe you are Lord Gregor's daughter? Mira, was it?" Catelyn asked

"Yes, my lady" she smiled behind her hand.

"You have your mother's face though your father's hair and eyes"

"Thank you, my lady"

"I do quite believe your friend can be dismissed?" the other Tyrell servants stood towards the far end of the tent; their heads bowed. They obliged, bowed, and followed each other out the tent flap.

"Like identical hens they are!"

"Yes, my lady"

"I would invite you to sit; only, I haven't seen a chair yet, myself"

"No trouble, my lady. I trust I shall see you tomorrow then?"

"I do hope so, Mira" Mira bowed, and skidded from the tent.

Catelyn tugged against the strap that held her gown together, and let it drop to the floor. She looked down her chest; to her breasts which were sagging ever so slightly. '_I'm aging_' she thought, as she skimmed her toes across the water. The temperature was just right; so she placed her foot inside, and then the other. She lowered into the tub; and sighed as it raced around her legs and absorbed into her skin.

A table was placed against the tub; with a sponge and certain bath scents. Catelyn picked one that didn't smell too vile; and applied it to the water. It frothed weird, pink foam; but it tickled the soft skin around Catelyn's body.

She rested her eyes; the face of a young Renly Baratheon floating before her. Then images of him seated upon the Iron Throne: a fair king; gentle with his wife in the marriage bed, perfect for many sons to last many winters; holding the hand of fair Margaery Tyrell. Yet Northern traditions echoed around his image; the bronze and iron crown, the sword on his knees, the cold metal resting against his wolf skin surcoat.

Many noble lords kneeled before him: Lord Mace Tyrell of Highgarden; Prince Doran Martell of Dorne; Lord Balon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands; and Lord Petyr Baelish; still as short and mischievous as he was when he was fostered into House Tully.

"Cat" said a familiar voice. Catelyn opened her eyes at a start; to the face of Petyr Baelish; smirking with that pathetic goatee and surcoat that trailed on the floor. Her hand rested against her breasts: she knew he was pervert, having taken abed with her sister, and had fought for her hand against old, muscular Brandon Stark: long deceased. "Don't worry. I understand you hold no interest in me" he smiled.

"What do you want, Petyr?" Catelyn snarled

"I only came to welcome you to the camp of Renly Baratheon, King of Storm's End. Our last meeting wasn't very pleasant; having me arrive with old Ned's bones"

"Can't a woman bathe in peace?"

"Oh sorry! Being raised from a young age at the Fingers doesn't give you much for privacy. It seems the Tully traditions never rubbed off on me" he smirked, his eyes trying to translate the

ripples of her nipples.

"No. You were too busy trying to either bed me or Lysa!"

"We were always the best of friends; were we not, Cat? I was deeply disheartened when I was banished from Riverrun by the behest of your lord father"

"Yet it seems the scolding he gave you never left its mark"

"Oh yes, it did. I still have the scars on my back. Men don't take kindly when you bed their daughters. Lysa did have a way with words"

"Leave! Or I'll call the Rainbow Guard"

"Such a ridiculous name! By the Gods, I do hope the rumours aren't true, if Renly takes the Iron Throne"

"King Renly is a valiant man, with hopes for the best for the Six Kingdoms he shall inherit; and for the continued aid to the Kingdom of the North"

"Ah, yes, your son, Robb. How is he? The self-proclaimed, King in the North"

"Being self-proclaimed would make him a rebel. The Northern Lords named him their king: you have no right to name my son a traitor!"

"Did I utter the word?"

"You have been a good friend, Petyr... though from this moment, I hope to never set eyes on your treacherous face again. Rumours spread, but I know this particular one is a truth. You betrayed Ned when he tried to take the throne for the rightful King: after you gave me your word; the word to the woman you once loved"

"And yet; you're the one making a treaty with the youngest brother of our dearly departed Robert!" Littlefinger smirked, bowed, and swept away from the hall, his surcoat flapping against the cotton.

_'__What if he's right?_'' Catelyn thought; after she had scrubbed herself and was pulling the covers to her chin.


	2. Renly I

His crown cut into his scalp; a golden headpiece outcropping with bits crafted to make antlers. He wore a blue surcoat with a coat of chainmail underneath. A rapier was kept at his side for the direst moments. His House emblem was embroidered on his cloak. His two most trusted members of his Rainbow Guard escorted him to the cliffs around his camp: valiant Loras Tyrell swaggered in his step; one who preferred not to wear helmets, let his flowing, Tyrell locks flow in the wind. Otherwise, there was Brienne of Tarth; she had surprised Renly at her initiation (he had thought she was a man before she removed her helm). She and Loras walked forward; never making eye contact. Wolf whistles flew towards them from Tarly, Redwyne, Hightower and Tyrell men; specifically from Ser Hyle Hunt.

He grazed his soles into the gravel and dirt against the shores of Storm's End. Waves crashed against the stony wall beneath him; against rocks protruding like daggers for any unlucky soul. A small fleet rested about a league away; camp fires burning from a small isle in the Narrow Sea. _'__Oh brother; when will you learn?'_ King Renly thought. Stannis Baratheon had always been stern; emotionless; and judgemental. He followed the routine to the T, even if he wasn't impressed by his appointment to Dragonstone after holding Storm's End from the Tyrells; and after sinking Balon Greyjoy's fleet during his claim to the Seastone Chair.

"Are you alright, Your Grace?" Ser Loras asked.

"Yes, quite. Why?" Renly replied

"Just. You seem a bit; on edge, Your Grace"

"Wouldn't you? I'm about to crush an entire host of... well: Florents and Seaworths!" Renly laughed; his rumble echoing over the Narrow Sea.

"A small army then, Your Grace?" Brienne of Tarth asked

"Hmpf! Army? More like a mummer's farce; a band of wannabe nobles who don't have a golden stag to their House"

"Lady Brienne; assemble my small council. I wish to discuss our battle strategy before noon" Renly commanded

"Yes, Your Grace" Brienne delivered a stiff bow; and marched away towards the collection of tents.

Loras made the first move; beckoning close to his King's chest. Renly chuckled, as their lips embraced. Loras combed through Renly's deep black hair; their tongues lashing against each other.

"I love you" Loras moaned

"Me too!" Renly replied; as Loras kissed down his neck; breastplate to his groin area.

"For luck" Loras said; as he fussed over Renly's breeches.

"We might be seen" Renly stated

"Then let them know of us" Loras stared at Renly's member; the hairs that curled and looped around his manhood. He gripped it between thumb and forefinger; placing it in his mouth all the same.

Renly sighed as he climaxed; his seed spilling from Loras' lips and down his chin. Renly quickly laced up his breeches; handing a handkerchief to his lover. Loras wiped the seed away; and invited his King to join him to the camp: to his small council.

"Weren't we seen?" Renly asked

"For the people to love you; they must now who you truly are!" Loras inspired

"And if they don't love me?"

"Then I'll make them" Loras smiled; resuming his hold of his sword hilt.

The camp was looming before them; the banners of House Baratheon and Tyrell marking its limits. A round of applause and cheers from Tyrell; Hightower; Tarly; Redwyne and even some Hill's (the bastards of The Reach). The small council tent was set at the far end of the camp; at the edge of a birch forest; at the edge of a steep hill.

Loras stayed as Renly entered the tent. The members of the council stood as a mark of respect: Lord Mace smiling diligently and Paxter Redwyne bowing slightly. Lady Margaery; her beautiful brown hair sprawled down her back and shoulders. A beautiful aqua-marine dress embezzled with golden roses, loosely fitting with a padded collar, showing the cleavage of her pancake breasts. A tiara carved in the shape of the rose of House Tyrell rested on the head. The lords sat, so Renly was signalled to take his seat next to his Queen. Two handmaidens hovered in the area; holding flagons of purple wine.

Maps of the area were laid out on a table neatly carved from Ironwood: every nook and cranny; cave and forest clearing in Storm's End.

"You may want to leave, my dear" Renly whispered to Margaery. She smiled; in her witty, deceiving way.

"To become a true Queen; I must know how the rules of court and battle work, my King" she snaked her hand into his.

"Your Grace; ships from the fleet of the pirate, Salladhor Saan, have been spotted on the coast of Shipbreaker Bay" Mace began "Our scouts have also seen the burnt corpses of men washing up on the shores just off of Storm's End!"

"What?" Renly cried

"Stannis has taken the red woman under his wing" Paxter Redwyne explained "It is said she burns men in the dead of night for the sun to rise on the dawn"

"Is she the woman riding right hand to Stannis yestermorn?" Renly asked. The small council nodded "I thought that was the Lady Selyse"

"Selyse? With tits like that?" Randyll Tarly gaped "Bloody hell; if it was her, she certainly sorted out that moustache!" The lords laughed; Paxter Redwyne chortling on his wine. Renly chuckled slightly. Margaery was trying to hold it back; but her laughter overcame her. Handmaidens flocked to tidy up Redwyne's spillage.

"Anything more on the red woman?" Renly asked

"She hails from Asshai, Your Grace" Mace replied. Renly pondered on the topic, but quickly came to a decision.

"She shouldn't be too hard to capture; she will be a valuable hostage" Renly said

"We should also capture the Lady Selyse" Paxter said "We could ransom her to the Florents for their undying loyalty"

"And a hefty amount of gold!" Randyll chuckled

"We don't want to empty our banner men's coffers before we can tax them" Mace suggested "We should go with Paxter's suggestion"

"The King agrees" Renly stated. Margaery smiled at him; as Lord Randyll's squire; a small, weedy boy, barely older than ten years, noted down the legislation.

"What of the Onion Knight?" Mace asked "We may be able to turn him to our cause for definite protection of his wife and children"

"He's honourable. He won't renounce his oath to Stannis. Capture him if you can, but if he stands in your way. Kill him" Renly stated. He had needed to decide one man's fate after raping one of his Queen's handmaidens; he had lost his head. Being a King was bloody work.

"What of the child, Shireen?" Paxter Redwyne asked

"I am not Joffrey" Renly stated "Spare her. We may be able to foster her... into a ruling house; it's not her fault she was born to Stannis. Maybe to Lysa Arryn: young Robin needs to spend time with children his age"

"And of Stannis?" Randyll asked

"I wish to speak to my dear brother" Renly said "We need to speak terms before his head mounts the walls above the Red Keep!"

"What of wares to be given, Your Grace?" Lord Mace asked

"5,000 gold stags; 2 tonnes of cheese, bacon and barley; 9 tonnes of stone and lumber; 2 hostages from each House under his protection; swords to fit each infantry and cavalry man; long bows to fit each archer; a hundred arrows for each, nonetheless. And Dragonstone"

The squire finished the legislation, who handed it to Renly. Renly read over the document, nodded his head and sent the boy to heat some wax. Mace handed him the seal of House Baratheon; and when the boy returned with the smoulderingly hot, melting wax; he dabbed it on the folded paper and stamp the stag into the red.

"I shall deliver these terms to Stannis after our victory" Renly stated

"What of strategy, Your Grace?" Lord Randyll questioned "The men of Horn Hill are strong, fierce. We should ride in the vanguard"

"I agree!" Renly replied "How many men do we have in total?"

"10,000, Your Grace" Lord Mace replied

"And Stannis?"

"1,500 loyal banner men, 2,000 sellswords and 500 pirates, Your Grace" Paxter replied. _'__I'm starting to regret this'_ Renly thought; sighing a breath of relief.

The lords filed from the tent. He and Margaery remained.

"My Queen; you shall be required to ride to Storm's End with the other women" Renly smiled

"Of course, my King" Margaery replied. She stood; and bent over him to kiss his forehead. Her cleavage wobbled before him, reaching down her belly; small tuffs of pubic hair resting below. She was a beautiful woman, but her efforts were too much. He did love her, though his duties in the marriage bed would only be consummated once he was King of the Six Kingdoms.

She stood, and swept from the tent: calling her handmaidens to follow.

Renly walked out into the campsite. Men-at-arms fathered their weapons and fitted their chainmail jerkins. Mounted knights barked insults at their squires as they laced their plate armour; calling for drinks and whores for good luck before the battle. Archers filled arrows into practice dummies; marking their head, tits and balls. Handmaidens and camp followers piled food and resources into cattle wagons for the journey to Storm's End; crates of cheese; bacon; pork and vegetables. Certain tents were being dismantled; small pieces of cloth being given to beggaring, blind seniors with old, raggedy robes around their backs. Sticks were used by squires and trades boys as they pretended to be Duncan the Tall and Aegon the Dragon Knight; one acting as a dragon and the other standing on a box of peaches to over exaggerate Duncan's supposed height.

He gazed across the field for Ser Loras. No one: only a bunch of boys scrapping near the cliff side. But all were tall; with armour and swords and shields. One had cream yellow hair with the cloak of a Rainbow Guard. _'__Brienne'_ Renly realised. It seemed she had it handled; having knocked down Ser Hyle Hunt and a couple of Hightower infantry-men.

"Let them have their game" a familiar voice said behind him. Renly turned, and recognised the black-grey surcoat; greying moustache and goatee of Littlefinger

"Littlefinger- I trust you will be departing soon?" Ever since he could remember; Renly Baratheon had hated Lord Petyr Baelish.

"Within the hour: some free-riders generously decided to help me back and escort me to Harrenhal" Baelish replied

"And by that you mean you either paid them generously or threatened them with disembowelment" Renly chuckled

"Close" Petyr smiled. They set off at a slow pace towards Shipbreaker Bay. "I will be meeting with Lord Tywin on my voyage"

"Good" Renly replied "I wish for you to send a message to Lord Tywin"

"Yes?"

"Tell him to stay in his burnt fortress. His army will stand no chance between the combined forces of my army; Robb Stark's and the remnants of Stannis Baratheon's. If he wishes to live; tell him to listen to my commands; he shall be spared and be given a small holdfast in the Westerlands near Lannisport as long as he swears fealty to me and King Robb" Renly pondered for a moment "Make that holdfast Castamere. He does like some bitter, sweet irony"

"I shall convey it to Lord Tywin"

"And if he stays... I may give you Casterly Rock; for your sons and grandsons to inherit until the end of time!"

"I better work on getting some sons and grandsons then, My Grace, Renly" he curtsied "I shall ride to Harrenhal with haste; now that you have tasked me with this endeavour" he smiled; and walked in his mysterious manner to his convoy.


	3. Catelyn II

Her inner thighs were starting to sore. She rode on a small, brown mule; which was also carrying a cart of barley and wheat. Margaery rode beside her; wearing brown riding gear and black cow leather boots that reached up to her knees. She claimed it was travelling gear; though the materials were too rich to be treated roughly.

"I learned to ride at a young age" Margaery initiated "All little ladies in Highgarden must learn to ride from the age of five"

"Tully tradition insisted on everyone being able to swim. I remember running down to the Red Fork naked as a child with Edmure and Lysa: we used to swim all day and eat apples from the trees in the summer years. Then my breasts budded and my father kept me inside as Edmure and Lysa continued. Brigands used to always roam the Riverlands in those days; even though our Uncle Brynden used to protect us and chase us with the nettle branches: Father was always worried for his little cat. During Robert's Rebellion he always used to say 'Wait for me, little cat' when he went on campaign"

"It sounds like you were brought up very differently to me; Lady Catelyn" Margaery smiled

"Indeed" Catelyn smiled "In the autumn years the rivers of the Trident used to flood and supplies barely reached Riverrun. We used to survive on fish; water lilies and old river water. I miss those summer years"

"In Highgarden; the sun shines until the very end of autumn. We are always blessed with a bountiful harvest, and during the nights the scents of roses and tulips used to dance up the tower windows to mine and Loras' bedchambers" Margaery reminisced "We used to always sneak down to the kitchens and steal lemon cakes and honey bread"

"My daughter Sansa loves lemon cakes" Catelyn replied as they took a bend. The fortress of Storm's End was becoming visible in the distance.

"I would assume she is safe in Winterfell"

"No. She is being held prisoner in King's Landing by the Queen and Joffrey. All because she wanted to know of the southern ladies and see the sun shine on her face everyday"

"I'm so sorry"

"No need to be: little rose. Soon, I shall have my daughter back"

"Don't you have two daughters?"

"Yes: Arya. Sansa's letter to us never detailed any mention of Arya. We fear for her safety" a tear wept down Catelyn's face. Margaery fussed inside her pockets and brandished a small handkerchief. She handed it to Catelyn; who took it gratefully "Thank you; my dear" she wiped away the tear.

The fortress of Storm's End was looming before them; great stone walls reaching high; though not higher than the main keep; which rose high into the sky, the stag of Baratheon flapping in the wind atop each turret and tower. Pike-men watched from the turret as the convoy slowly trotted into the courtyard

"Is it true that Brandon the Builder built this?" Margaery asked

"The legends say he did" Catelyn said; marvelling herself at the enormity of the seat of House Baratheon. She wasn't surprised however: as Brandon the Builder had set the foundations of the Wall: the structure that separates Westeros from the frozen wastelands beyond Castle Black. "You and your brother seem to be close"

"Indeed" Margaery replied "We used to share everything. Even though we aren't of the same seed; we look the same and our interests intertwine. We shared our bedding tower; we sat next to each other during meals; we played together in the gardens as the sun set. Inseparable"

"Like Cersei and the Kingslayer"

"Not that close" Margaery japed. They both laughed.

They were passing beneath Storm's End's wrought-iron portcullis. The enormity of Storm's End was even more impressive inside. Wall gardens lined tapestries of stags and crowned stags. Huge, Ironwood doors led into the Main Hall; as archers and spear-men walked the walls, watching the women with interest.

The doors opened; a grand display of effort and creaking steel hinges. Ser Cortnay Penrose ushered himself to meet the host. The castellan of Storm's End's bald head and red beard reflecting the image of late King Robert.

"Welcome to Storm's End" he announced "A feast has been arranged, and will begin at Evening fall" He bowed; and walked back to the hall.

Margaery leapt down from her horse and stretched; rubbing the insides of her thighs meanwhile. Catelyn requested a hand from a Tyrell flag boy; bowing when he realised her station. "Thank you" Catelyn thanked; as the flag boy strode away to a flock of Tyrell handmaidens.

"I wonder how long we'll be cooped up here" Margaery pondered

"Hopefully only a week" Catelyn replied "When Ned rode off to fight in Robert's Rebellion; I was scared to leave Riverrun for almost a year in case of missing him. And of hearing rumours..."

"I'm worried for Renly" they walked to the hall; where a small banquet of Stormlands delicacies had been laid out for them "He never seemed eager to act out punishments; I dread to know how he would deal with a full on battle"

"The Battle of the Baratheon Brothers; the bards will name it" Catelyn said, as they sat on a wooden bench and helped themselves to a selection of fish and meats "Stannis the Stubborn and Renly the Boy"

"Speaking of Renly" Margaery asked

"Speak, child"

"He seems... well: I don't know how to describe it. Almost, resistant to carrying out his duties in the marriage bed: was Lord Eddard like that"

"Ned was very honourable. At our wedding he refused to carry out the traditional bedding as he didn't want to break a man's jaw on our wedding night. However; we still carried out our duties. Renly won't: at all?"

"No. Not even on our wedding day. He drank too much wine purposefully so he wouldn't be able to take me. Am I not good enough for him?"

"Maybe he believes a maiden of six-and-ten isn't ready for the duty"

"Some of my handmaidens have been taken by men twice the age of age now when they were three-and-ten"

"Lord Renly is different to other men. I remember when he was child: as he used to prance around these very halls in bright colours and used to call himself 'Renly the Hero!'" they both giggled. "Give him time, my Queen. He will soon submit. Try to woo him; not with your bodily features, but with your personality; a meal, or something"

"Thank you, Lady Catelyn"


	4. Brienne I

"My King, Lord Stannis has been spotted burning villages near Bronzegate" the maester explained to King Renly. Bronzegate was a holdfast just northwest of Storm's End, barely two hours ride from Renly's current position. Only the Small Council tent remained of the camp: the rest being delivered to Storm's End for safe keeping.

"What of Tarth? My brother must have sailed past on his voyage from Dragonstone" Renly asked the Maester. _Tarth? My father!_

"If Tarth has been destroyed then I wish to plunge my sword into Stannis' heart myself, Your Grace" Brienne of Tarth butted in. Evenfall Hall was Brienne's home: the keep of Lord Selwyn Tarth.

"No need to worry: Lady Brienne" the maester explained "Stannis simply flew the traditional stag to bypass Tarth. Not a cannon or landing party has been sent to the island" the maester smiled. Brienne sighed with relief.

"Besides, Brienne, I need to fight beside me!" Renly stated. He was wearing his traditional green armour; his stag helm resting on the Ironwood table. Brienne smiled. Renly Baratheon had been the first person ever to pay her any notice, and being selected for his Rainbow Guard was like a blessing sent down by the Seven. Brienne bent down to one knee:

"Seven blessings among you, Your Grace" Laughter echoed in the tent. Lord Randyll Tarly bellow as his ale spilled across the rushes; Lord Mace Tyrell attempted to stifle a chuckle, but failed as spit spewed across his squire. _'__Damn you, Brienne. You've done it again'_. Brienne stood, and receded to the back of the tent with the other Rainbow Guard.

"What is the terrain around Bronzegate?" Paxter Redwyne asked.

"A tall structure; encrusted in bronze" the maester began, circling Bronze Gate with a shard of lead "The terrain is just like it is here: hills. But to the south, about a mile, is the Kingswood. We could start our attack around a hundred metres north of the most out-of-the-way tree. Stannis will have no chance to enact a sneak attack!"

"How will we guarantee that he won't circle the Kingswood and attack from the east?" Lord Randyll questioned

Renly traced circles across the map "We'll send a garrison to protect the Roseroad, the Grassy Vale and set up checkpoints to defend against any cohorts trying to attack through clearings in the Kingswood"

At that moment: a young boy, barely older than four-and-ten, ran into the tent, huffing and panting.

"M'lords, Your Grace!" he panted "Lord Stannis has taken Bronzegate!"

"Perfect!" Randyll Tarly bellowed "His garrison will be resting! We can man a siege and take them with their cocks out!"

"We're not going to fuck them, Lord Tarly" Renly said

"Stannis is experienced in handling sieges, Your Grace" Lord Mace Tyrell advised "We may want to try and take the castle at the earliest possible date. And with the Onion Knight; that may take until that man dies!"

"Unless we kill him first" Paxter Redwyne said

"He's a smuggler; if he was standing under our noses we wouldn't be able to see him" Renly replied

"From the sea we wouldn't" Mace began "But Bronzegate is at least a league from Shipbreaker Bay; even further from the Blackwater!"

"Then Ser Davos will have a bit of a difficult time sneaking past us"

"Lord Paxter; you will take a garrison to Grassy Vale, Summerhall and the Roseroad" Renly started: then he turned to the boy "Who did you see at Bronzegate?"

"A few sentinels. I heard some screaming; something about capturing the lord"

"Ralph Buckler: a loyal banner-man! But his household are the opposite" Renly stressed "If he dies, then we will lose our strength in the Kingswood!" Renly drew a line from their position to Bronzegate "We must ride at the earliest possible moment"

"My men are assembled, Your Grace!" Mace said "We can ride in an instant"

"Good" Renly proclaimed

Brienne walked with her King. The camp site was now just the field they had found it as: but now more brown after the mud was ripped out the ground by the tent stakes. A line of horses, flag boys and infantry were lined up the hill; as Lord Mace bellowed orders at them from his white stallion: Ser Loras on the tourney horse from King's Landing. Trebuchets sat idle with the men; as did carts with tent pitching materials.

"Your Grace: do we have enough supplies to last a siege?" Brienne asked

"We've enough to last a month. Not for everyone, but... it shouldn't take that long" the King answered. He was fair, just King who didn't enjoy bloodshed (the very opposite of Robert). He was the first one who had shown her any attention: other than her Lord Father.

Renly called for his horse; and it appeared at the hands of a squire. Renly mounted up, and asked the squire to fetch a horse for Brienne. A big, brown stallion with a pale mane and green eyes was led to her. She thanked the boy with a pouch of copper. The squire ran off to his Lord: one of the Hightower brothers.

"Ride with me, Brienne" Renly asked of her. Brienne did so. Renly signalled Mace to ride off with his men.

"What of the tent, Your Grace?"

"We'll leave behind a small garrison of around five men to unhitch it. They will deliver it to Storm's End!" They embarked over the hill. A field of green lay before them. "One of the only areas in the Seven Kingdoms not touched by brigands or Tywin Lannister" Renly sighed.

"Where will we go after we have destroyed Stannis, Your Grace?"

"We will occupy Dragonstone: and then we will ride out to meet Robb Stark" Renly smiled. He spied a squire on a mule beside one of the Reach lords: and called for him. "Wine"

"If you drink too much-"Brienne started

"I'm not Robert" Renly smiled, and drank from the pouch. He sighed, replaced the cap and pinned it on his sword belt.

"I still don't believe it is good to drink before a battle, Your Grace. It dulls the senses"

"As proven by my brother. I don't intend to get pissed and take on a boar; don't you worry, Lady Brienne" Renly chucked "Ah yes, Robert: a good, strong man in his youth. Quite like the boar actually. I didn't really see him much until after he returned to Storm's End after his damned rebellion. He was fostered in the Eyrie by Jon Arryn, with Eddard Stark. It's interesting; they all died in service to the Crown. Jon was poisoned; Eddard beheaded; my brother… um, well, was ripped open by a boar. Disembowelment; dismemberment and choking to death: the three ways to die according to Maester Coleman in Casterly Rock"

"What about being blown up by cannon-fire; being flayed; raped to death?" Renly gulped. Blood had never been his strong topic.

"Can we please stop talking about this; the impending bloodshed over the next few days is already making me queasy"

"Sorry, Your Grace" they were complete opposites. Brienne had always wanted to be the boy on Tarth, as she had no brothers and her Father had no male heir. She used to brawl with the cook's boys and the stable boys in Evenfall Hall: she always lost. Her Father said 'If you're going to fight: you need to do it right!'. She had once sparred with Renly once actually: but she was sure he didn't remember. _'__Being Lord of Storm's End will keep you busy'_ she thought.

The Kingswood was in sight. A great space of trees closely knitted together: oak and birch, beech and mahogany. No danger was said to be posed in the Kingswood; other than the occasional elk or shadow cat. Smoke bellowed from over the forage of trees. '_Stannis'_ Brienne thought. Renly stared onwards. _He's scared_.

"Stannis is leaving a trail!" Randyll Tarly bellowed with a mighty laugh "The craven bastard!"

"He's trying to lure us into a trap" Brienne realised

"Really? I thought it was just the burning villages" Renly replied "My brother is held up in Bronzegate; a simple siege and it'll be over". Brienne looked down the left side of the Kingswood. _Lord Redwyne should be holding Grassy Vale there: I hope he's successful, or we're all dead_. The host rode by the right side past a few forest clearings where crows watched their movements; waiting for them to drop dead. _A bad omen._

After a quarter hour's ride; burning villages and hamlets could be seen smoking and burning. A litter of blacken stone and charcoal, blades of grass and trees scorched like burnt bread. A litter of dead horses and scattered bones marked their path to Bronzegate.

The portcullis was shut; wrought iron with bronze diamonds to mark joints and for general decoration. No watchers stood on the walls, and a huge fire was raging inside: grisly shadows echoed against the fire and setting sun. Lord Mace's and Lord Randyll's men stopped. The men parted, allowing Renly and Brienne to ride forward. Brienne looked back to the rest. Ser Loras was staring desperately at Renly: as if trying to get him to not continue.

"Stannis!" Renly shouted. The portcullis opened slowly. The bronze scraped against the stone walls, as Stannis Baratheon rode forward on his golden stallion.

"Welcome, brother" Stannis replied "I trust you wish to destroy my forces and execute me for a traitor"

"I don't plan to execute you quite yet" Renly said

"The Seven Kingdoms are mine, by right. You are the traitor"

"Really? I never imagined that the Seven Kingdoms would want a bald prick as a King with a dried-up cunt"

"Small talk, brother"

"I wish to talk peace. I don't want to have to remove your head, but I will if you don't heed my commands. I've already given you one chance, I will give you another. Surrender yourself, your claim and your banner-men to me. Surrender this holdfast and its inhabitants to me and we will spare every soldier and man, woman or child loyal to you" _Child? Never!_

"You don't know me do you, brother? You surrender to me, and I will spare your banner-men, and that she-male riding next to you. Your life will end, however". _Even the valiant and noble, Stannis Baratheon is mocking me._

"You know I can't accept those terms, brother. I full strength is 10,000, 2,000 has left to garrison Storm's End, Grassy Vale and Summerhall. You will fail"

"I once loved you, brother. Now you are nothing but a spoiled child" Stannis rode back into Bronzegate; the portcullis closing behind him.


	5. Theon I

The drunken slurs of the Greatjon Umber sang. No birds were roosting in the branches above; all had flown away after the Greatjon began singing. Their horses were kept behind a group of trees near the camp; they were huddled around a small fire under the protection of some willow trees on the banks of the Trident. He, Greatjon Umber, Smalljon Umber and Olyvar Frey: Robb's personal squire. Tight, autumn winds cut through the furs that Theon Greyjoy wore. Not quite as cold as Winterfell at this time, but still cold. A rabbit's leg was roasting on the fire; being turned by Robb's squire.

He was tall for his age, a boy of four-and-ten, but Theon believed he was still virgin. Blonde hair was swiped across his head, and a small, goatee-like beard was on his chin. Theon called for him to pour some wine; and the boy did willingly. Theon thanked him and drank away the wine. It warmed his throat, yet the biting cold around his chest was still agony.

A small tavern; The Inn of the Kneeling Man, was held slightly down the road, a road of dead leaves and decapitated rabbits. This was one of the only areas in the Riverlands not devastated by the war. Riverrun could barely be seen in the distance; a hazy block of towers and spires through the trees.

"The Young Wolf is planning to march on Harrenhal within the week if there's no word from Lady Catelyn" Smalljon stated

"We should march on Casterly Rock. It's vulnerable, Lord Tywin's in Harrenhal" Theon butted in

"We could send two squads. One to Harrenhal and one to Casterly Rock" Olyvar suggested. The Greatjon laughed in his drunken slur.

"The boy has some ideas. Ideas to get us all… killed. Up against the forces of Kevan Lannister and Tywin Lannister- we're as good as dead!". The Greatjon collapsed under his weight onto the cold, hard floor. "Bastard!". Theon turned to Olyvar.

"You have some good suggestions" he encouraged "King Robb may heed the word of his squire" the squire smiled, but turned back to the rabbit.

"I remember my first woman" the Greatjon slurred "I was fourteen; she was one of the serving girl in Last Hearth. We were of an age, but her tits were flat and her cunt dry. We did the deed behind the stables in the summer years. It was still fucking freezing!" he looked up "When Father found out the poor girl was flogged and granted to the barracks for tutoring. Naked. Father's punishments did the job! What about you, Lord Theon?" Theon chuckled.

"A miller's wife. I was fifteen, and she was about eighteen, but her husband was forty and useless. She was a butcher's daughter, with the decent size tits you could play with and the cunt that wet at the touch. We did it in front of the heart tree in the Godswood. She was so loud I could have sworn the Old Gods heard her!" the camp echoed with laughter.

"So; squire. Who was your first woman?" the Greatjon asked. The squire remained silent. "Speak, boy!" The squire squeaked, confusing the Greatjon "Are you craven, boy?"

"Have you ever fucked anyone?" the Smalljon bellowed. Olyvar continued to roast the rabbit; the soft flesh burning a black-brown colour. "Bloody craven, bastard!" the Smalljon stood, stretched, and receded into the trees. The sound of water against wood could be heard through the trees.

"Wine!" Theon called. Olyvar carried the barrel to Theon, but only a sliver snaked from the barrel. Barely a sip's worth of wine was in Theon's cup: he downed it anyway. _Wine is wine_.

"We're out of wine, m'lord" Olyvar said. Theon stood:

"Ride with me!" He stepped through the trees to the horses. The Smalljon was lacing up his breeches when he found him.

"Alright: Greyjoy?" Theon nodded. He cut the rope binding his horse to the tree; a great, black stallion, similar to the Hound's Stranger. Olyvar mounted a smaller horse; cream with a brown mane.

Theon's sword hit against his leg as he rode; cutting slightly into the soft flesh. Olyvar rode unsure behind him up a road buried in dead, autumnal leaves. Creatures watched their trek, while Olyvar whimpered behind him.

"Have you ever left the Twins?" Theon asked

"I went on a few hunting trips with my brother, Willamen, before he took to the Citadel, but we didn't catch anything" he replied.

"So, you've never even been on a full hunt? In Winterfell, I was ward to Lord Eddard, but it didn't feel like that. Everyone looked down on me, as if I wasn't worthy for life. They always said that I was lucky that he didn't chain me up in the castle crypts and let me die for my Father's crimes"

"I'm so sorry, m'lord"

"Don't be. Lord Eddard was a righteous man, and I wish to impale Joffrey on a spike for his crimes"

Lights stood idle in the distance, as if inviting Theon Greyjoy. The Inn of the Kneeling Man was a bleak, desolate place, run-down and ruinous. A small family now kept the inn running. A man; with a grand, orange beard and bald head was slamming his axe into some wood when they arrived. He stopped and stared at them with beady, black eyes. He held his axe with both his hands, swiping it as if he was going to kill them.

"Friend or foe?" he grunted

"Stark or Lannister?" Theon replied. The man considered

"Which House holds Riverrun?"

"House Tully; under the protection of the King in the North"

"Stark, then" he continued at his wood "What do you want, lord's boy?"

"Can't a man wander the countryside at his leisure?"

"I guess; if you want to be slaughtered by brigands and shadow cats" he cut down on the log with a precise amount of rage behind his swing.

"What's your name?"

"What's yours? Some Umber come to rape my wife?"

"You happen to the be speaking to Theon of House Greyjoy, Heir to Pyke and the Seastone Chair"

"Never heard of 'im"

"You will speak to me with more respect"

"Pyke; isn't that the Iron Islands? You're out of your jurisdiction boy. You're on Tully land, specifically Marget's land"

"I am the ward of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell"

"Yeah! And look what happened to him, boy" he stared at him, deathly and silent.

"Lord Eddard was a good man"

"And he's still lost a head. Take some advice boy. Run back to the Young Wolf before the Lightning Lord finds you"

"A bedmaid's story. Lord Dondarrion is dead, slaughtered by the Mountain"

"Tell my wife that" he returned to his wood "I guess it's lords courtesy to offer you into my pub. Enjoy yourself, 'Lord Greyjoy'"

It was the first time Theon had been referred to as that. It made him feel proud: even if it had been intended as a jape. He led his horse to a hitching post, and tied the rope around the horse's neck. Olyvar did the same, almost falling off his horse. Theon sighed and instructed him on how to show authority:

"If you're going to be a knight, then you can't you that"

"Sorry, m'lord"

The inn was a pile of shit; truth be told. Tables were scattered: uncoordinated in their placement. A pig ate its own shit in the corner. A tall, weedy woman with straw-like yellow hair and bloodshot blue eyes was sweeping away piles of straw. Her arms were like sticks; skin stretched over the bone was cracking around hr wrists and elbows.

Another woman; olive skinned with chestnut hair and green eyes was cleaning the bar. Her breasts were busty and almost spilling from her white cotton tunic, yellowing with age. Another woman, about four-and-ten with budding breasts and the same hair as the tall woman, sat in the corner, feeding a babe with a red nipple. _Probably her daughter, raped by the Lannister's_. Olyvar quivered when he entered. He had clearly never entered the brothel at Winter Town.

"D'want a drink, m'lord" the busty woman asked

"A barrel of wine to take to Riverrun, wench" she giggled at the name. _She clearly doesn't know what it means_.

"We only have mead m'lord; sweetened with oranges from the banks of the Trident"

"It'll do! You've done a great service to the King in the North"

"What?"

"King Robb Stark of the North and the Trident, Lord of Winterfell?" she giggled.

"I've heard of it, m'lord" a quiet voice said behind him. Theon turned. It was the suckling mother, tucking her teat behind shirt; clearly fit for a male.

"Have you?"

"Yes. He defeated Ser Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer at the Green Fork, and swore to marry one of Lord Walder Frey's granddaughters"

"You're a smart one. Can your read or write?"

"No, m'lord: only a few numbers. I know how much money we have"

"How much?"

"100 silver stags". _Not worth the King's time_.

"Who taught you?"

"This stable boy; one of the Brotherhood, a northern lad"

"Enough, Leyanna!" the tall woman said sternly

"Sorry, mama" she returned to her baby. Theon went to sit next to her, but Olyvar beat him to it. He handed her a selection of coins:

"Can you count these?" he asked

"Um…" she said. She pointed to the brown one "That one's a halfpenny, three… no, four? Two! Make a penny. Um, this one" she pointed to a silver one "That's a silver stag, it's seven stars, and a star is… nine pennies?" Olyvar shook his head "Eight pennies!"

"Leyanna, stop bothering the boy, he's in service to King Robb" her mother said. The babe began to wail! Leyanna patted the babies back, to no avail.

"Mama!" she cried. Leyanna passed the babe to her mother, who managed to get the babe to calm.

"I'll put her to sleep" Mama said, as she walked into a side room which stank oddly of stale cheese. Theon went to sit next to the olive skinned girl, and asked to fetch him a tankard of the mead sweetened by oranges.

"Is the child yours?" Theon asked. Leyanna nodded meekly. "Who's the father?" the girl began to cry. Olyvar tried to console her, to no avail.

"She was raped by the men in red" the bar-maid said "When they arrived, they cut down Father and then raped her and her Mother"

"What Lannister's?"

"A man who could cut off a horse's head with a single cut". '_The Mountain'_ he realised.

"Who are you then?" Theon asked

"Nalia" she said.

"Well, Nalia. You are in the service of Theon of House Greyjoy"

"Aren't you King Robb's prisoner?" Theon was taken aback. That was the first time he was described to be _Robb's_ prisoner.

"No. I'm his ward, with the death of Lord Eddard" he considered it for a moment "and friend"

"I would assume your life has been a wonder!"

"Not really. But enough about me. Are you a maiden?"

"Yes, m'lord. Is it bad? Because Auntie tries to pair me up with one of the Brotherhood men"

"The Brotherhood?"

"Our protectors! They fight against the Lannister's and anyone who tries to hurt us" she sounded excited "they're led by the Lightning Lord and the Red One with the flaming sword!"

"Who's the man outside?"

"Oh, I don't know, we just call him Axe. He showed up one day and he's been working for us; chopping wood for the fire; cooking the meals: stuff like that!" her breasts were filling the sight of Theon's eyes. He had seen big breasts but none like that. _I need her_.

"We're riding for Harrenhal within the week-"

"Isn't that the castle with the giant, black towers" Theon nodded.

"I trust you would like to serve a lord. Change his sheets; serve his dinner, all for good pay, two silver stags per day. And warm his bed when he needs you"

"This place is a pile of shit. But I can't leave Leyanna and Auntie. They're my family" her eyes began to water. Theon remembered his tankard and took a sip.

"They can join. Your aunt may serve as a camp follower, same as you. Little Leyanna could serve as a serving girl; or as Olyvar's camp follower if she so insists" Theon noticed that Leyanna and Olyvar were getting on well. He was just worried how Robb would take it. Nalia giggled:

"So, I would serve you while you ride in your tents" _Close enough_

"Serving a lord is a valiant cause, for brave, fearless women. Are you brave and fearless, Nalia?"

"Yes, m'lord"

"Do you accept?" she pondered for a moment

"Yes, m'lord"

"Call me Theon"

"Yes, Lord Theon"

"Right: your duties begin now. If you would care to join me, I haven't had a good fuck in around a month" Nalia giggled. She ambled jubilantly around to Theon, and kissed him on his forehead. '_A good investment'_ he decided, as he led her to the bedding rooms of the inn.

She embraced him happily. Her breasts pressed against his chest; stiffening his member. Nalia must have felt this; as she began to unlace his breeches. His member poked her leg when it was unleashed. Nalia stroked the tip gently, attenuating Theon after a month of neglect. He removed his wolf skin cloak and threw it on the termite-eaten floor. His undershirt was a rough, scratchy material: it relieved him when it was removed. Nalia took glee in tracing her finger through the lines in his muscles and his stiff nipples. He reached up her shirt and pinched her nipples; pulling ever so tightly to make her gasp. He glided his hand up her top and pulled it over her chestnut hair. Her breasts were big; slightly sagging: but then he realised his favourite whore in Winterfell had sagging breasts. She giggled, and grasped his cock with both hands. She tugged on it lightly; then harder and faster.

He wanted: no, needed; to be inside her. He knocked down his trousers; bringing air to the excitement between his legs; his sword clattering on the floor. He placed his hands on her breasts: pressing his palms into her nipples and rubbing them into the soft flesh beneath. Nalia knocked away her skirt: her cunt was hairy, but with a touch it was wet. Theon kissed her forehead, slapped her arse and told her to bend over on the bed. She did so.

Theon entered her, and pushed. She screamed as her maidenhead was broken, while blood covered Theon's member. He took her there and then; fingering her sable nipples. He moaned as he spilled his seed; shouting loudly as it was his first spillage in the longest time. He slumped down on the bed beside her. She climbed on the bed next to him, and sighed.

"Is that what it feels like, Lord Theon?"

"I don't know what it feels like for a woman" he said, as his cock receded to its normal size.

"My Mother; before she died; told me to cut the hairs around my cunt, but I haven't, and I wasn't sure I would ever have a man. But you have lots of hairs around your cock"

"I don't mind either way. As long as you're available to fuck at any minute, I don't mind as long as it's kept to a decent level"

"Is mine alright, Lord Theon?"

"It'll do. It's your breasts I want more though. They may be some days where I just feel and suck on them. And eventually you may have a bastard in your belly to name Pyke, though when I become Lord of the Iron Islands I intend to name him Greyjoy"

"What if it's a girl, Lord Theon?"

"Then I'll marry her off to another noble House. Maybe one of Robb's children, so our House's may unite" Theon's cock was beginning to stiffen again.

"Why does it become hard, Lord Theon?"

"So you know when to use your mouth" Theon beckoned her to use her mouth on his cock. She did so, and his eventual explosion sent him into ecstasy, as she belted in surprise. Theon fell asleep as she played with the ripples of his muscles and the lumps of his nipples.

Horses woke him. Torches were lit outside, illuming the night sky. Theon looked to Nalia: drool was spilling from her mouth onto the sheets: an itchy concoction of cotton and possible dead cockroaches. Greyjoy looked down at his cock: he groaned as his seed had gotten mangled in his pubic hair. He walked to a basin recently filled with water; grabbed a cloth and washed out the seed. A cracked, dusty mirror was hanging from the wall reached showed most of his body. He realised his muscles were going slightly flabby, but his cock was bigger after being kept hidden for days at a time.

Footsteps were approaching. Theon went to check; the Greatjon was stood huffing and panting in the doorway.

"What's wrong Greatjon?" Theon asked, not minding the repulsion of the sight of his naked body to Lord Umber.

"Have some decency, Greyjoy" he moaned. He noticed the Greatjon looking at Nalia; her hips and ass were clearly visible.

"Do you like her? I've hired her as a camp follower" he smiled, gloatingly.

"King Robb has requested his banner-men to report to Riverrun"

"Go, I shall return within the hour"

"Good" he turned to leave, but stopped "and put some fucking clothes on!" he left Theon.

He gathered his breeches and smallclothes from the floor; then smacked the arse of his camp follower.

"What is it, Lord Theon?" she said, confused.

"We're leaving for Riverrun, King Robb has summoned me" he pulled his small clothes and breeches on. "Retrieve your best clothes, to be in a castle even a whore needs to dress appropriately"

"A whore, Lord Theon?" she asked as she sat up, the busty tits wobbling.

"I'm paying you-that makes you a whore" he pulled his tunic back onto his body "Now get dressed, and not the clothes that have your tits falling out" she seemed taken aback by this. Theon had won his prize and she was sworn into his service.

"Oh" she sighed "when shall we do it again, Lord Theon?"

"When I'm ready" he said "but if you're good, maybe you'll tempt me into having you again" he sent her to dress, and so she did.

Olyvar rode with Leyanna. Apparently they had slept together, but didn't entwine their bodies together. '_He must want to wait' _Theon thought, as Nalia felt around his crotch area. His horse was big enough for two; so he allowed Nalia to ride with him. The rode to Riverrun wasn't long, across a small ford in the Trident. The Greatjon rode in front of them; barking commands at his squire to give him his wine. Their barrel of mead of being pulled on a cart behind Olyvar's mule.

"Is that Riverrun, Lord Theon?" Nalia asked as the grand river castle of Riverrun became visible before the rising sun.

"Yes. The seat of House Tully; King Robb's grandfather is Lord, but his uncle handles most affairs" he put some strain on his horse to make the ride less tedious.

King Robb wore his crown of bronze and iron. A long-sword sat across his lap like the statues in the crypts below Winterfell; but those were meant to be the great long-sword: Ice, but the Stark Valyrian steel sword was held in King's Landing by Joffrey, his mother and his Imp uncle.

"My King" Theon knelt before Robb. His smile was welcoming, a small beard growing on his chin. His hair was auburn, like the Tully's, and his eyes a watery blue.

"Theon! Nice of you to join us!" Olyvar had taken his position beside Robb "and thank you for returning my squire"

"Why do you summon me?" Theon Greyjoy asked, standing tall.

"I have received word from my Mother. King Renly Baratheon has agreed to join my cause" cheers echoed through the room "we must now ride for Storm's End; to swear fealty to the King of Storm and Flowers"

"I told you your Lady Mother would succeed, Your Grace" Rickard Karstark stated.

"Lord Karstark, assemble my outriders. We ride for Storm's End"


	6. Tyrion I

The bolt pierced his heart suddenly; ripping away his matted skin and spoiling his cotton guts. His entrails littered the floor of the Throne Room, matching the red tapestries of House Lannister; the blue organs matching the Baratheon flag.

"Y- Your Grace!" Grand Maester Pycelle stuttered. He stretched his maester's collar over his neck to a different angle.

"Do you have a problem, Maester Pycelle?" King Joffrey remarked; his mouth twisting at an angle. He handed the crossbow to his dog: Sandor Clegane. The mangled remains of the bard where being carried away by a group of silent sisters; their silent voices seemingly heartless as they loaded the bard onto the stretcher. Tyrion Lannister gazed across the hall. The Kingsguard; garbed in their shining armour and their white, enamel cloaks stared onwards, holding their swords as if it made them any stronger to what they really were: woman beating; child killing savages. Their deaths would be a mercy to Tyrion: they were all in his sister's (The Queen Regent Cersei Lannister) pocket. He suspected an assassination attempt soon, at any moment.

"Nephew, what did the man do to harm you, exactly" Tyrion asked

"His voice gave me a head pain"

"Oh, let's make singing out of tune punishable by death. For I am the greatest offender, my singing is renowned for being the worst in the Seven Kingdoms!" he smiled cockily. Many of the ladies from houses south of the Neck were streaming from the hall. Only a few remained: Taena Merryweather; Falyse Stokeworth; and of, Sansa Stark. _The poor girl must be terrified._ According to the Spider, Varys, Sansa's mother had allied with Renly Baratheon, and the King in the North's army was riding to Storm's End to join King Renly's host. _Joffrey is sure to punish her!_ Tyrion Lannister thought.

He glanced towards the Iron Throne. His sister: Cersei: was sat next to Joffrey, as she insisted, Ser Osmund Kettleblack stood next to her, as she insisted. _Another fuck buddy, Cersei?_

"Are there any affairs of state... to be attended to?" Pycelle asked. The hall remained still but for one man. He was ragged, with wispy tuffs of hair on his brow and barely a muscle in his body. His voice was quivery, a blubbering lip making his voice tremble even more than it already was.

"Speak, man" Joffrey commanded

"Y- Your Grace" a tear ran down his face "I- Your men- they- they. I have been forever loyal to the Crown, Your Grace. But- your men- burned my farm- r-raped my wife and butchered my daughter. A suckling babe!" Joffrey stared at him with judgemental eyes, Tyrion noticed. The man had burst into tears; cradling a small rag he carried with him.

"Is that it?" Joffrey asked

"Why- y-yes, Your Grace!" the man quivered

"Our biggest condolences are given to you; sweet man" Tyrion butted in, for he knew Joffrey would try to have him butchered in the black cells "A payment of a hundred gold dragons will be paid to you for your livelihood. However, we can't do anything for the dead"

"Thank you, Lord Hand" the man thanked. Joffrey eyed Tyrion with daggers. _That's how you do it, you arrogant little cunt!_ The man shuffled away, the Goldcloaks opening the doors for his exit.

"That was noble, half man" the Hound said

"Someone has to be, don't you think, Clegane?"

"Lady Sansa, step forward" Joffrey beckoned his betrothed to the centre of the room. The daughter of Stark shuffled forward; her lip quivering. Her hands fumbled around the cuffs of her dress; a pale blue thing with pink embezzled around the stitches.

"Yes, Your Grace?" she whimpered. Tyrion watched this keenly. Joffrey had never been kind, but his treatment of this girl was beyond demonic.

"You are an honoured guest at this court" _he says that _"does your brother, Robb, not care for his sister's wellbeing?"

"Yes, Your Grace, he does!" she cried

"I sent Ser Cleos Frey to talk parlay with the King in the North. He has returned, and well... Ser Mandon". Ser Mandon Moore grabbed a small sack which was clung to his belt. Odd lumps protruded from the sack, which bobbed and rolled from its resting place as they landed before Lady Sansa's feet. A head: draped in tar, its bloodshot eyes staring out into nothing. Sansa gasped, and stepped back slowly. "It wasn't good news" Sansa shook her head in denial, tears slowly pouring from her red cheeks, burning with anxiety. "He told us that Robb Stark has denied our terms to return to Winterfell. Now, he has decided to ride south to Renly Baratheon" Joffrey began to shout "Does he not love you?"

"I'm sure he does, Your Grace!" Sansa screamed

"Liar!" Joffrey bellowed. "Ser Meryn!". Meryn Trant, a short, squat man with horrible, brown facial hair walked forward. He struck Sansa across the face with a mailed hand. A cut opened, a river of blood pouring down the maiden's cheek. It was enough.

"What are you doing, you arrogant fool!" Tyrion stormed his way to the Iron Throne, to stand face-to-face with Joffrey.

"Teaching Lady Sansa a lesson!"

"It's not her fault her brother is enacting revenge against the execution of his Father. And if I'm not mistaken; you ordered his head to be removed!"

"I- am- the- King!"

"And a stupid, vile, ignorant cunt of a King! Seven hells, not even the Mad King would murder a man without his own desire to watch him burst into flames! What was your desire: bloodlust? You were ordered by your Small Council to spare Ned Stark and send him to the Wall. Now look at all the shit you've sent the realm into! Four Kings: all of them wanting to see each man in this rooms head on a spike!"

"I-!"

"Joffrey" Cersei said calmly, placing her hand on Joffrey's lap. Joffrey's face turned back to its normal shade of pink. The Queen Regent looked at Tyrion with stern eyes, but quickly glanced back to Sansa Stark.

She was in a heap on the floor; the tears staining her dress, which was sprawled on the floor. Blood stained the right side of her face; Ser Meryn standing over her, his fist in the air.

"Ser Meryn, you will return to your chambers at this very moment, or you share the same fate as Ned Stark" Meryn Trant considered for a moment, realised, and lowered his hand.

"This isn't over, dwarf!" he growled, his boots clanking against the marble floor.

"Now, if you don't mind, Your Grace" Tyrion growled "I excuse myself" he walked down the steps to the Throne Room floor, bowed to Joffrey, and exited the hall.

"Follow me" Tyrion commanded Bronn; a sellsword who fought for him in his trial-by-combat in the Vale of Arryn.

"I heard a lot of shouts" Bronn said in his Northern tongue "Did you and Joffrey have another brawl?" they set off at a brisk pace towards The Tower of the Hand.

"Almost. Do you know how much turmoil he has put that girl through?"

"Lady Sansa? Hell, it's apparent when you see her. Albeit, you don't see her much, usually with your whore" Tyrion backed Bronn in a small alcove behind a suit of armour.

"Shae is not a whore! Only a woman looking for a better way in life"

"And the way she's doing it is by being a whore to seduce the King's Hand to make her the handmaiden of Lord Eddard Stark's eldest daughter"

Tyrion considered for a moment "Precisely" they continued to Tower.

Tyrion told Bronn to keep guard at his doorway. Sunlight drafted through thin, silken curtains of Lannister gold and crimson. The golden chain hung around a chest mannequin on his desk near the entrance. An open legislation for the recruitment of infantry-men lay unsealed on the desk, the wax left bubbling on the table. Candles sat burning around the room; creating a strange aroma of cinnamon and Arbor wine.

The bed drapes were open: a black haired woman, thin and barely older than eight-and-ten lay face down on the ruffled sheets. She wore nothing much, a thin handmaiden gown across her legs and back. Tyrion's breeches quickly stiffened, slowly becoming more uncomfortable as he approached Shae.

"Shae" Tyrion said, arousing the sleeping dame.

"My Lion" she moaned, the face of Varys the Spider staring at him. Tyrion stumbled over a table where a vase with rare flowers from Slaver's Bay was kept.

"Seven hells, Varys" Tyrion gasped. Varys the Spider clambered off of the bed. Thankfully, nothing was visible (Tyrion never wanted to see a eunuch's gash). "Where's Shae?"

"That's what I'm about to tell you, my Lord Hand" he opened a cabinet at the bedside and pulled a thick, brown cloak from its depths. Varys removed the wig; revealing his powdered, bald head. "If you would follow me" he walked to the fireplace, twisted the golden dragon amongst a field of fire on its head. A small, dingy passageway opened up, descending into darkness for what seemed to be forever.

"What have you done with her?" Tyrion asked

"Oh; nothing" Varys smiled. He fumbled around in the darkness: pulling a lantern from the depths. He reached into his cloak and retrieved a wicker. He waved it over a candle, and lit the lantern. The lantern illuminated the darkness; spiders webs, rat holes and dampness shown in the blink of an eye. A long, black ladder descended into nothingness: seemingly wet and oily.

"What are these?"

"The secret of the Red Keep" he beckoned Tyrion to follow him. If Varys could fit through, then so could Tyrion the Imp. When Tyrion entered and descended five ruts, the fireplace closed above.

"Good. If Bronn walks in and finds us gone he wouldn't think twice about an open fire-grate" Tyrion rubbed his fingers around his palm every few ruts; receiving bright yellow marks where his grip was strongest. "Varys, how old are these tunnels?"

"Since the time of Maegor"

"So as old as the Red Keep?"

"Precisely, my Lord Hand" Varys answered "We're about to reach the bottom. Follow me to the footstep; you don't want to explore these tunnels, my Lord"

"Why: do grumpkins and snarks lurk in the dark side passageways, Lord Varys?" Tyrion jested.

"Worse"

Tyrion heard Varys clamber to the bottom. The lantern light faded as Varys walked, but Tyrion quickly caught up.

"Where are we headed for?" Tyrion asked

"These tunnels lead for anywhere in the Red Keep" Varys answered "The kitchens; the Throne Room; Cersei's Chambers"

"I definitely do not want to enter my sister's bed chambers"

"I thought you would quite enjoy it. My elder little birds describe it as: how shall I say; 'erotic'"

"So the rumours are true?"

"They were never rumours. Though not Moon Boy, as much to my understanding"

Tyrion shivered "But it still doesn't answer my question"

"About five hundred metres ahead we will reach the Iron Gate and the Rosby Road. Just before that the passageway will stop and lead into a small alcove with a set of stairs leading to a ladder. Your Lady Shae awaits you

"And this was all conveniently placed here three hundred years ago?"

"More or less"

As Varys had stated, a horse and a mule stood waiting; hitched to a hook in the wall near a doorway.

"What's through the doorway?" Tyrion asked

"You don't want to know" Varys replied as he cut the mule's bonds. He mounted his horse; more of an ass than a horse; and rode with Tyrion. "I thought I'd be kind and give you a mule to ride, my Lord Hand"

"Ah, yes, and you didn't wonder if I would take it as some sort of sick joke!" Tyrion remarked. All his life he had been cast down or set aside due to his hand, but now he was Hand of the King. "What is the case with my brother, Jaime?"

"My little birds in Riverrun state that the King in the North plans to ride for Storm's End by week's end. This may have happened yet, though those birds have not yet flew"

"How long until you may know?"

"As fast as the raven flies" Varys stated "Your brother, Jaime, is said to be kept in Riverrun under the protection of Edmure Tully and the Blackfish. This would be an ideal time to strike, my Lord"

"But how to get the men to Riverrun"

"Indeed. A Night's Watch caravan has recently arrived in the city led by Ser Alliser Thorne"

"I don't wish to meet Ser Alliser again, Lord Varys. When I visited the Wall with the Stark bastard I couldn't help but get the sight of cunt away from me"

"And odd sight at the Wall" Varys continued the jester with. They rode in twilight for near ten minutes, until Varys spoke up "Those iron bars ahead of us mark the Iron Gate. Maegor was cruel and apparently stupid also. The tunnel from here leads to the seat of House Rosby, down the Rosby Road. Now we must part, my Lord Hand; your sister is expecting me to send her the details from the Iron Islands within the hour"

"What is happening now on those seaming piles of moss?"

"According to my little birds; Balon Greyjoy is hiring the best warriors and smiths from across Pyke and Ten Towers" Varys said in an explanative tone "I fear he wishes to make a claim for the Seastone Chair, and the title: King of Salt and Rock"

"This can hardly bode well for House Stark" Tyrion reflected "Yet, why would he be hiring smiths: isn't Balon Greyjoy a partaker of the old way?"

"Indeed. He intends for the smiths to forge an iron crown. The warriors will steal the crown from the smithies, and afterwards Balon will take the crown with either a battle axe or shiv" Varys giggled "Follow the tunnel , you will find Lady Shae beyond" he turned on his horse into the darkness.

Tyrion dismounted. He landed harshly on his little legs, and rubbed his inner thigh after the half hour ride. Barely a light shown from the alcove: but for a small, willowing candle in a minute crevice. Tyrion peeped inside the alcove. A nest of spiders were embedded next to a candle; blocking the light with their webs. _Ignorant bastards_. Darkness loomed before him; but he could still make out the curve of serpentine steps. Fading lanterns of old, rusted steel ran adjacent to the wall.

A door stood at the top of the stairs. It's rusted, iron knocker screamed as Tyrion pressed it down. Inside, a ladder stood leading upwards into; what seemed to be; infinity. Tyrion sighed; grasped the first rut, but instantly pulled back. The ladder was dripping wet; but not water: a strange black substance skimmed down Tyrion's palm onto his black, leather jacket. Tyrion grumbled; wiped it on the wall and proceeded to Shae; his dwarf legs and arms aching with each pull.

The halls were vacant; statues of the Seven standing like ghosts with their emotionless faces and white figures. The sun streamed from open terraces and small grates in the roof. Cushions sat unmoved on vacant seats and flowers blossomed on neglected topiaries.

A giggle echoed through the room. Tyrion fastened his pace; until he was greeted by the sight of Shae speaking with a man with a lute in his grasp.

"Another song" Shae pleaded.

"I don't think so, Lady Shae. A little man has joined us"

"My lion!" Shae called. She leapt from the bed with a certain grace and embraced Tyrion with a hug. Tyrion glanced at the bard. His eyes were focused at Shae's direction. _Either at me or her arse_.

"What, haven't you seen a dwarf before?" Tyrion asked

"Not very often, good ser" the bard replied

"Oh, dear fellow, I am no knight. Apparent by my height" Tyrion removed himself from Shae and walked to the bard "I am the King's Hand; you should know my office grants me the power to dispose of anyone who annoys me!"

"Didn't mean no disrespect, m'lord Hand"

"Oh, I'm sure you didn't-"

"Tyrion!" Tyrion held out a hand to stop Shae.

"What is your name, man?"

"Symeon Star-Eyes, m'lord Hand"

"Star-Eyes? Are you blind man? Oh, of course not, you recognised me as a dwarf"

"Only curiosity, m'lord Hand"

"Curiosity? You can take your curiosity away from this city. And if you don't, I have an army of bandits from the Mountains of the Moon who would very much like to meet you" Tyrion growled "You know what to do"

"Yes, m'lord Hand" Symeon cried, as he fumbled to stand; limping from the chamber.

"My lion, he was the bard you hired to entertain me!" Shae explained

"Oh. Oh well, bastard annoyed me" Tyrion replied. He took her hand "How has city life been for you"

"Fine- I took your advice... now I'm a handmaiden to Lady Sansa!" she sounded overjoyed "Maybe I could visit you when you're doing your Hand work, and maybe we could have some fun"

"We're not going to fuck in the Tower of the Hand"

"Why not? It's a tower; it's far away from Maegor's and your father"

"Maybe I can move you to an apartment near Lady Sansa's, but we're not fucking in the Tower of the Hand"

"But still: why not?"

"Noise travels"

"You've fucked loads of girls in the Red Keep. I heard that red-head you particularly liked when you visited Winterfell has moved to one of Littlefinger's brothels. Maybe we could invite her on one of our escapades!"

"I hardly think she'll remember me"

"Really? How could you forget fucking Tyrion Lannister; the son of Tywin Lannister; Lord of Casterly Rock and richest man in the Seven Kingdoms?"

"Okay, you have a point" Tyrion placed his hands on her shoulders "Do you know why I came here?" Shae giggled. She shrugged her shoulder; her loosely fitting garb dropping around her waist. Tyrion traced a stumpy finger around a soft nipple; the redness quickly erecting. Shae stood; letting her gown drop to the floor. Tyrion sighed, as she unlaced his laces and grasped his stiff manhood.

The moon slid behind a silken vale of green hills and dusty towers. Tyrion Lannister awoke suddenly; he swiped his hand across his eyes, relieving him of the encasing crust. Shae lay beside him; her breasts resting comfortably on his shoulder. She was soft and delicate; with small, perky breasts and a clean cunt. Her figure was slim; a beautiful crescent against a city of dirt and deceit. Tyrion stood, bent down and grabbed his breeches and small clothes. He laced them up; grabbed his jacket and tied it to his chest. Shae was snoring softly; more like whispers of little girls than a mature woman, never mind a whore. _She's just a whore, Tyrion!_ She turned, the covers shifting to display her breasts to the world. She was hard. _Probably dreaming of a past customer. _Tyrion planted a kiss on her brow and left through the main door of the mans.

The streets of King's Landing were surprisingly empty. The hour of the wolf shined high in the sky; as rats and small dogs scoured amongst festering pigs and chickens. A market stall was overturned; rotten oranges and banana's damp in the sewage overflow. Tyrion tried his best to avoid Flea Bottom, but sometimes it was a necessity to pass near it or through it. He figured he would try to avoid the muggers and plague rats inside; so he hired a mule from a stable-hand outside a mans down the street and rode towards the Street of Sisters.

Whores of many dress states flashed their wares for Tyrion, but he refused them politely. Drunken soldiers and gold cloaks lay naked and drunk across the street. Tyrion rode his mule hard to avoid this street: usually he would enjoy it but the unconscious men had put him off the tits and ass to grope.

He sighed happily as he rode through the portcullis of the Red Keep. A horde of Goldcloaks watched his approach; their bows grasped in their hands. He dismounted and went straight to the Tower of the Hand. Water rushed beneath a bridge as he walked to his destination.

Before the portcullis; a whisper stabbed like daggers through Tyrion's ears. A fat, bald guardsman with dark brown stubble and a sword longer than his belly stood holding a lantern. But, Tyrion still saw some resemblance with a certain spider he knew:

"Hello, Lord Varys"

"You are getting good at recognising, my Lord Hand" Varys replied "Especially after our last encounter"

"Don't remind me" Tyrion reflected on his experience the night before "What do you want, Lord Varys?"

"The birds have flew"

His sister looked stone cold. Her blonde hair sat ragged against a Lannister crimson gown: well, more of a dress than a gown. Grand Maester Pycelle sat snoring in his chair; as Lord Varys read over a letter with handwriting no better than a five-year-old. Tyrion took his seat across from Cersei; her green eyes watching him with disgust.

"Nice of you to join us, brother" Cersei remarked

"Sorry, I was attending to Hand business" he lied "And what have you been doing, murdering babes, still at the breast?"

"That was Joffrey"

"And what is our repulsive King doing now? Using whores for target practice; dreaming how he will mutilate Robb Stark's corpse? Oh, better yet; beating Sansa Stark?"

"You little-" Cersei seethed, rising slightly

"Aren't we here to discuss the affairs of the Northern cause?" Varys but in: Cersei hit Pycelle on the wrist; whom awoke sharply.

"Lord Varys: read the letter" Cersei said coldly.

"Yes, Your Grace" he unfolded the letter and cleared his throat "Robb Stark rides for Storm's End on the morrow; probably today by the speed the raven flies; he has been speaking to his councilmen on what to do with Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, and they have decided that he shall remain in Riverrun under the protection of Ser Brynden Tully and Edmure Tully. The Kingslayer is held in the highest tower in Riverrun near the River Gate. He will be leaving a garrison of one hundred men, excluding the guardsmen already stationed in Riverrun" Varys folded up the letter "Sounds well enough to me"

"The highest tower. Not unlike a tale told by mummers and wet nurses. 'The Princess in the Tower' the princess being our beloved brother, Cersei" Tyrion jested. Cersei scowled, and turned to Varys

"Arrange a garrison of five hundred men. Take Riverrun and rescue Jaime" she commanded. Varys nodded, and rose.

"I assume that council is adjourned?" he asked. Cersei nodded "My lords, Your Grace" he swept from the room.

"And who will lead the host to take Riverrun?" Tyrion asked.

"You" Cersei replied, with a smile reminiscent of one Tywin Lannister.


	7. The Knight of Flowers

The Kingswood was a vast, cluttered space with felled logs and scattered creatures. A small stream ran under a fog of pebbles and a small log bridge. Hooves splashed in the muddy stream; then another; and another. They were following a herd of deer, those being: Randyll Tarly, Loras Tyrell, Brienne of Tarth and King Renly.

Renly rode reluctantly; humming and swinging in his saddle, a small wine flask around his belt. Brienne scowled as she rode; her inner thighs clearly chafing, but she didn't show pain. Ser Loras rode affront the party beside Randyll Tarly.

Twilight drifted through the branches and leaves above; as autumnal colours fluttered before Loras Tyrell's face. He wafted them away; the scent of oak and figs escaping into his nostrils.

The sound of wood on nails echoed through the wood: which was the building of trebuchets and siege towers. Explosions rattled through; as the testing of the cannon against old stone bricks was being done back at camp.

"I don't see why we are doing this, Your Grace" Brienne said behind him. Stannis had pledged the release of two Buckler hostages for a shipment of food and resources.

"I don't see why we aren't just throwing pigs over their walls" Randyll Tarly said "it worked in Robert's Rebellion. About a week afterwards when we besieged the holdfast, the entire court was dead!"

"We need to free the hostages" Renly stated. He shifted his crown around on his head. Red marks lined his forehead; after wearing the crown since daybreak "Besides, we don't have any dead pigs"

"Sheep, cows, lambs; as long as they're dead, it doesn't matter, Your Grace"

"I need to speak to my brother, Lord Tarly"

"Why don't we besiege the walls when our siege weapons are finished?" Loras asked

"We will; just after negotiations fail"

A bow twanged beside Loras. A doe, heaving and bleeding, pranced about, slowly dropping to the forest floor. An arrow had pierced its rear, blood spewing over the oranges, greens and yellows. Renly looked away, his hand shielding his eyes from the dying creature. Randyll hopped down from his horse; grasped the doe's ear and pressed a hunting knife to its throat. Blood and veins fell from its neck as Lord Randyll dropped the lifeless head. He plunged the knife into the doe's side; ripped open the body and removed the entrails.

"Messy work" Lord Randyll said; as he wiped the dripping blood from his wrists and hands. Loras heard Renly swallow; possibly vomit. Randyll slung the doe over his shoulder and emptied it into the basket on Brienne's horse. "Had to show it mercy: it just wouldn't die" he said as he fetched his bow and quiver from the ground.

Smoke snaked through the trees before the hunting party. The smell of burning lumber and cooking meat danced through trees; alerting King Renly and Brienne the Beauty.

"What's that?" Renly questioned.

"Huntsmen? Soldiers maybe, Your Grace" Brienne craned her neck to scan the trees. Loras dismounted his horse, brandished his sword and stalked into the forage. Braches whipped against his face as light beckoned him onwards.

A small cook-fire; swindling under an overhaul of logs was the source. Ten men-at-arms, each wearing blue and yellow surcoats; byrnies, with a red and orange symbol embezzled over the breast. One turned a lever; spinning an impaled hare over the fire. One; with grey-brown stubble and grey eyes; noticed him. His surcoat was old and fraying: the smell of old leather and oil seaming from him.

"Who are you?" he said in the accent of Flea Bottom

"Who are you, good ser?" Loras Tyrell asked.

"A King's man"

"Which King?"

"Which King do you serve for?"

"The one true King of Westeros"

"To some people, the one true King of Westeros is Joffrey Baratheon; others it's Lord Renly; other's it's King Stannis" as he spoke, his hand waved. Loras didn't know if it was his eyes, but his hand seemed ever so slightly shorter on four fingers. A group of horses were hitched behind them; whinnying over a bale of hay. A few of the men-at-arms stood and walked to their horses.

The leaves rustled behind him: a woman with yellow hair and a frown stood beside:

"Renly, run!" Brienne screamed, as she turned back into the trees.

"What was that?" a soldier laughed.

"Brienne; the Maid of Tarth" Ser Davos Seaworth stood. A pouch hung around his neck: made of black, horse leather with a silken rope attached around the cord.

The men-at-arms stood in unison. They brandished their swords; all old steel with dents and rust around the hilt.

"You're traitor to the King's cause" Davos said, brandishing a steel sword; seemingly fresh forged. Loras stepped forward; his breath quick and obsolete.

"Which King's cause?" Loras asked "How did you escape Bronzegate?"

"We never entered, Knight of Flowers" harsh horse hooves echoed quickly and loudly behind him.

"So that's your King? A craven, we called the man who didn't eat the brown, back in Flea Bottom! Is he no better?" Loras stepped closer to the cook fire. Ser Davos' face illumed as the fire broke from its wooden bonds. His eyes were cold; heartless.

Loras struck first, but Davos threw him off. He struck again, but was struck down again. Davos held down his sword with his own, pulled back and struck him across the eye. A cut gashed across his eyelid, blood blinding him ever so much. Horses raced around them; and quickly disappeared into the distance of sound. Loras and Davos fought valiantly; blocking and parrying like their men-at-arms from their childhood taught them. Or: at least Stannis for Davos. Even with his left hand; Davos was still a valiant warrior. He could parry the Knight of Flowers; who himself had dismounted the Mountain in a joust.

The pain was excruciating; blood leaking from a sword wound in the lower ankle. Davos slapped Loras across the face; kicked him in the groin and plunged the edge of his blade through his plate and into his ribcage. The sky above span before Loras Tyrell; leaves turning into a black hole of death. Davos stepped over his body, snuffed the fire and took a vacant horse for his own.

"Sorry; boy. But this is the truth of war" Davos said "Rest in peace"


	8. Margaery I

The towers of Highgarden sat in the same places they always had; Loras, bounding to join her in the gardens; the terraces looking over the banks of the Mander. Lady Olenna, her Lady Grandmother; sowed at a canvas of golden roses. The smile was wicked; her hair covered by a headdress not different to a Septa's. Little birds flocked around her skirts; Margaery was always told that she would have girls catering to her every whim, but it still hadn't happened. It made her sad, it made her _angry_.

At night she dreamt of ladyhood, of being Queen. Her wedding would be in a grand plaza in the open air; with seventy seven courses and a pie of birds to cater for her. Her King would be valiant, noble, caring. He would suit the crown; make him look handsome, more than he already was. A young, beautiful King with good intention for the realm: as would she.

_He looks so peaceful_ she though. Her brother lay on his bed; his arms folded around his chest. His breaths were short yet plentiful, even though the fever inside him ate away at his life. _He must awaken_ she thought. She stroked away a lock of hair from his eyes; straightened his rushes, replace the flowers beside his desk.

Her Lady Mother, Allerys Hightower; sat weeping in the corner or the room; knitting a circle of the Seven out of barley and cotton. Father had not allowed her to use the fine materials; he suspected that Winter would be soon upon them, as small flutters of white rain had been seen on the marshes north of Highgarden.

Margaery Tyrell had never seen Winter; never seen the white rain fall or the wonder of darkness falling in the early hours. She worried for Loras. _Maybe he won't see Winter_ she thought.

_It's so cold_. The covers were several layers thick, but she was still cold: even with the fire roaring in the hearth. Loras sat staring into the fire; barely blinking:

"Don't look so long, you'll turn blind" Margaery warned. Loras turned, and rolled his eyes at her.

"I think it's fascinating. You can see all sorts of shapes: like here, a woman falling to a mountain pass. It's strange, but seemingly real. A man, with a lute, is watching her fall, reaching forward while men-at-arms hold him back. I think he loves her"

"You're crazy" Margaery whispered. The snow was piling high on the outer windowsill; a white death. Father had told her that the maester had passed, but she didn't know what that meant.

"I'm not crazy, it's real!" Loras tried to convince her "Here, a man with a flaming sword around seven fires, as a red woman screams her chants into the night!"

"Aren't you cold?"

"No, the fire keeps me warm"

The new maester entered; a man from Karhold. Margaery thought Father named him as a Karstark cousin. He held a fresh lantern in his hand.

"Master Loras, you must be cold?" his name of Olymonvar, Margaery had gathered: some Valyrian name, apparently, as his parents had travelled Slaver's Bay and had sailed on the banks of the Doom (or at least as close as they could get). Loras shook his head. Maester Olymonvar sighed.

"Children, so defiant" he said "We will carry the tub here, children, it's too cold to enter the towers"

"Then how are you going around the castle?" Margaery asked.

"A lot of clothing, Mistress Margaery" he entered the room, as a flock of hens and two stable boys carried jugs of water and a tub. The hens poured the water quickly, shivering as they did. The maester bowed, and left them.

They had always shared baths, so what was different this time? They stripped their clothes, and quickly leapt into the tub before the cold got to them. Margaery found it weird how Loras had something down below, but current workup the courage to say anything:

"What's that down there?" she asked, using her toes to direct to Loras' crotch.

"Don't you know? Why don't you have one?"

"No, and why would I? I'm a girl" she said.

"Well, I'm a boy. Haven't you seen the babes after they're born? They all have them"

"That's not that. It's over their navels" Margaery rolled her eyes "Besides; it falls off after a few days"

"Is that what happened to you? It fell off?"

"No, I'm a girl; we don't have those disgusting slugs at all!"

"It's not a slug" he splashed her with his foot.

"Hey!" she did so to him as well. Soon, the water chilled, and Loras and Margaery had to jump out soaking wet. They quickly bundled under the covers together, trying to keep warm.

Her King had hair of the colour black. He was valiant, noble, a worthy suitor. Loras had welcomed Lord Renly with open arms when he rode from King's Landing to Highgarden with a hundred swords. Margaery had never been included in council meetings, but this one was too tempting. She didn't hear every word, but the words 'War' and 'Bastard' stuck out to her.

It was no surprise to her when Mira awoke her and garbed her in the dress she would wed in. It had been beautiful; green, gold and blue: her hair was raised in the air like branches. The wedding was held in the Sept of Highgarden; a small place, but one of her favourites as a child. She used to love the ornate carvings of the Seven, even the Stranger's, whose face was scratched away into the marble wall.

Her Father; with his large belly and blonde beard; walked her to Lord Renly. The septon: old Septon Barriam, whom she had known since she was a child, led the service. Her own brother, Loras, had handed Renly the cloak of House Baratheon to match the rose draped on her back. Renly had been graceful yet took back by their kiss: it also felt strange for Margaery, as it was her first kiss not from her Father or Mother. She had refused all suitors. Jalabhar Xho; one of the Redwyne's; even a Martell cousin, but she just couldn't refuse Renly Baratheon: Lord of Storm's End and son of the King. Well, the old King.

The feast had been gracious; full of bards, entertainers and scribes. The food had been the same she had received all her life, but her favourite food was still put to a priority. King Renly had been romantic and thankful; never mentioning the horrors that had occurred in King's Landing not a week before.

He wasn't romantic after the bedding. His clothes were slightly torn; his chest visible only just. Margaery's skirt had been ripped away; disappointing her for the dress was so beautiful. Only her inner skirt and a corset remained for her to strip away. She asked for Renly's help to remove it, he was reluctant but he submitted. She expected him to take her breasts in his hands afterwards, but it never came. He had sat back on the bed; looking down at his legs.

She walked towards him, and even though her breasts were bared he wasn't attracted. She unlaced his undershirt; pushed in back and pushed him onto the bed. He groaned as she released his manhood from his breeches. It was limp; soft; even when she shook it in her hands it stayed fleshy. Even when she stripped down to her pubic hair he didn't harden.

It hardened when he took him in her mouth; he still took pleasure from the act, but he didn't push her head down for more pleasure; he just stared to the ceiling as she sucked on him.

"What's wrong, Your Grace?" she asked, as she wiped the seed from her mouth.

"Nothing" Renly replied, as his cock softened.

"My lady!" Mira whispered in her ear. She came back to the present, and realised she was still in Storm's End; the gulls screaming and the waves crashing against the fortress' eternal stones.

"What's wrong, Mira?" Margaery asked.

"Riders in the night!" she said as she garbed herself in her handmaiden dress. Margaery stood from her bed, and stared down at her breasts quickly. _Am I not good enough?_ Mira Forrester grabbed a white gown from the closet and draped it around Margaery's shoulders.

"Is everything good, Your Grace?"

"Yes" Margaery said, weakly. Mira nodded, and grabbed a candle from the table. She beckoned her to follow, and Margaery did.

The tower was dark, illumed only by the candle which was quickly flickering out. Rain lashed inside the open archer holes; spitting in Margaery's face.

The rain whipped her face when she stepped into the courtyard of Storm's End. Two men and a woman were rain-sodden, their armour rusting.

"Make way!" Cortnay Penrose ordered. The crowds filed out for the guests; coughing and spluttering. _Renly?_ Margaery thought, sidestepping into the hall through the entering crowds.

The rain-sodden riders sat restless on the feast benches; holding their head in their hands. Margaery found her husband next to Brienne of Tarth; and across from Randyll Tarly. They were barely recognisable while they were wet; so Margaery called for Mira to fetch some hot towels. Margaery sat next to her King and hugged him protectively.

"What happened, Renly?" it was first time she had called him that. But this conversation seemed for human than regal. Renly stared at her with unbelieving eyes:

"A massacre" Brienne stated "A sneak attack from the Kingswood. A square of cavalry rode out and took down some of our infantry while we weren't prepared. Stannis rode from Bronzegate and attacked from there; flattening us. We only just escaped"

"And of Loras?" Margaery asked. Brienne shook for head. It was then that Margaery Tyrell burst into tears...


	9. Arya I

The host consisted of five free riders and one carriage. Hot Pie stood on his toes to see over Jaqen H'ghar; the Lorathi whom Arya had saved from the Red God. A line of Lannister's stood together; shoulder-by-shoulder: the kitchen scullies, servants, cooks and bed warmers were forced to stand behind them. Gendry stood hot and sweaty next to Arya; his muscled chest heaving as he panted.

Lord Tywin Lannister: with his thinning, white hair and stress stubble; was mounted on his blonde stallion at the foot of the parade. Flags of House Lannister and Baratheon lined the parade; held by small, weedy boys barely older than ten years.

"What's happening?" Arya Stark asked Hot Pie: the fat pie boy from Flea Bottom.

"I don't know; this bloody guardsman's in the way" Hot Pie complained. Jaqen H'ghar turned; his red-white hair swiping across his face, covering the scar down his right eye and cheek.

"What did a boy say?" Hot Pie shrunk down to his normal height. Jaqen chuckled, and turned back to watched the host's arrival.

A man; garbed in black and blue with greying hair and a deep black (yet greying) goatee. He smiled that snarl that Arya always hated: as he swept his cloak and strode towards Lord Tywin.

"Lord Tywin" he bowed; his nose almost touching the floor "Cooped up in Harrenhal are we?"

"You know fine well that Harrenhal is a worthy cause for the taking, Lord Baelish" Tywin turned slightly on his horse. A slight drizzle began to fall, bugging Arya but relieving Gendry who was still red from the forge.

"True, but these towers never defended against dragons, did they?"

"The last dragon died with Aegon the Third; which you know plain well"

"A researcher of House Targaryen, my Lord?"

"Know your enemy to end them, is what I say, Lord Baelish" Tywin said "Care to join me, this rain is rusting my chainmail" he turned on his horse "Girl, follow!" Arya did as she was bid.

Lord Tywin commanded her to hitch the horse besides the Hall of a Thousand Hearths; and quickly follow Lord Baelish and Lord Lannister.

"So, where are you from, girl?" Littlefinger asked. _He recognises me_.

"Rosby" Arya lied

"Ah, yes. I do believe that Lord Gyles is suffering from a terrible cough" Baelish sniggered "What is the word from Rosby, girl?"

"I haven't been there since King Robert died. When Lord Gyles left for King's Landing; he took the garrison in Rosby. Mother and I didn't believe it was safe so we took off on the Kingsroad; but we were captured by the Mountain's men near Acorn Hall. Mother was asked about where the Brotherhood was, she didn't know, but they killed her anyway. Then I was brought to Harrenhal"

"Were you?" Petyr walked forward at a brisk pace to Lord Tywin.

The jug was heavy; containing a thick, purple substance with small speckles which glittered in the sunlight that glinted into the Hall of a Thousand Hearths. Arya poured it into two orange cups and carried them to Lord Tywin and Littlefinger. Littlefinger took a sip, and said:

"I've just returned from the camp of Lord Renly!"

"Did you do what Cersei requested?" Petyr nodded.

"One hundred golden dragons were planted in the pocket of one Ser Lothor Brune in King's Landing. He came with me to Renly's camp; where he slipped into a square of infantrymen" Littlefinger took another sip.

"Very good. You are a valuable asset, Lord Baelish"

"Thank you, my Lord Tywin"

"Soon, the King of Storm's End shall fall. Hopefully, not before he crushes the King of Dragonstone. Lorch's host shall soon meet Robb Stark's on the road from Pinkmaiden to Stony Sept. My brother shall ride from Lannisport to destroy any remaining Northmen from The Crag to the Blackwater Rush" Tywin downed his drink in one. "To the victory of King Joffrey!"

"King Joffrey!" Petyr sipped his wine slowly "What enemy shall we crush after these Five Kings, my Lord?"

"I don't intend to. I will retire, and hope for lasting peace in the Seven Kingdoms. Tyrion can remain Hand; and by the words of Varys he's doing a bloody good job"

"A decisive, witty leader is what Westeros needs"

"Indeed" Arya stood staring at Tywin with daggers in her eyes. She could see it, her brother Robb being slaughtered on the Gold Road, Grey Wind being pierced by a spear as he mourned over his owner. Her Lady Mother being raped and killed by the Mountain's men as Theon Greyjoy is stabbed through the heart. She shook from those vivid false futures and dismissed herself from the hall. _House Piper are loyal bannermen to House Tully; Mother's House!_

A group of guardsmen stood drinking in an alcove when she passed under to the rookery. One stopped her; the one who had big, clammy hands and no nose.

"What's the hurry, little'un?" Rorge said with his disgusting, Flea Bottom accent. He was once a prisoner in the Black Cells before Yoren had picked him for the Wall.

"Let go of me!" Arya screamed; as Rorge's clammy hands grabbed her wrists.

"Now: now. A boy saved you, Rorge. And now you are threatening to murder that boy!" Arya turned, and saw Jaqen H'ghar holding his Lannister helm under his arm. He stared at Rorge jovially, yet menacingly. Rorge let go and sidled to the back of the blackened wall. "I trust a boy is in need of a man's service?"

"I need a raven and some parchment; also a quill"

"A meagre request; yet doable" Jaqen looked confused "Wait for me at the Godswood during the hour of the wolf"

"No, I need it now!" Arya commanded. Jaqen rolled his eyes

"Very well. A boy shall have his request. Wait at the Godswood, I will return within the hour"

Arya waited before what she pretended to be the heart tree of Winterfell. She had hidden a small scrap of metal behind a rock covered in moss on her second night in Harrenhal. She had already tried to etch in the face on the tree. She had tried the outline, but the bark didn't seem to allow her indentations. She tried again; sending a horrible noise throughout the Godswood. For a half hour she tried as sweat beaded from her chafing pours and the redness of frustration crept up her neck. A humble chuckle came from behind:

"A boy is determined, is he not" the silhouette of Jaqen H'ghar walked towards her "A man has been watching for at least ten minutes. A boy has barely made a dent" he inspected the shard of metal "This metal is basic; barely rough steel. It is said the ancient Children used magic to carve their faces within their weirwoods. It cannot be completed by a measly boy"

"I'm not weak"

"A boy claims; but a boy knows it's true"

"Did you get what I requested?" Arya asked. Jaqen sighed and handed her the parchment, ink and quill.

"The raven sits on the stone where a man once sat; a black shadow amongst a fortress of black and grey" Arya spotted the raven behind Jaqen H'ghar; cawing as the sun flitted through the tower terraces and spires.

Arya scratched the ink at the bottom of the parchment; when satisfied, she wrote a warning message for the King in the North and Pinkmaiden about the awaiting Lorch host. She sighed, scampered to the raven; wrapped a seal around and attached it to raven's leg. The raven took off with wings black as night.

"How long should it take?" Arya asked Jaqen.

"As fast as the raven flies"


	10. Melisandre I

The fires spoke to her. Not with words: no: with pictures of the future! Pictures detailing events far to the north, farther than the Wall: of events deep in the south, in the tall towers of Sunspear and the Water Gardens. Such deceit, yet it was necessary. This night; the fires spoke of old smoke and towers from the city of the Milk men; great fires leaking from these towers, and the men with pale, blue lips. The beautiful, young Queen stood before these Milk men with creatures of fire and ash on her shoulders; drinking fresh milk from her swollen breasts, as ash and heat beat around her naked body. Her hair was alight; snuffing the sky and a great, red comet soaring across silken, Dothraki skies.

Melisandre of Asshai shook away from her fires. _The power R'hllor has given me is a gift; yet I must be secluded from time to time_. Her copper hair hung loosely around her shoulders, blending with her flowing, red robes of the Red priestesses. The moon hung dark in the sky; mocking Melisandre with his putrid darkness. _Shadows are the servants of light_.

Black, ruinous tents sat smouldering outside Bronzegate; while the screams of captured soldiers sang through the air as they were offered to the Red God. _They are with R'hllor now_. Mixed with the beautiful screams; the jolly chants from the King's men echoed into Melisandre's tower; now dubbed 'The Red Tower'. Fires cackled around the Red Tower, the faces of R'hllor's servants chanting and prayer within the reds, oranges and yellows.

A loaf of bread; mixed in sweet honey sat beside her fire. She took a bite, and revelled at the sweetness. It was the first time she had ate in a week; as she had been praying for Stannis' victory. Lord Renly had rode from Storm's End to Bronzegate; and was destroyed Ser Davos Seaworth. They had captured Lord Mace Tyrell; and were planning to raid down the west side of the Kingswood to chase out Paxter Redwyne.

The door slammed open; knocking an old wardrobe to pieces, it sliding to the floor as its old, moth-eaten clothes scattered across the silken rushes, embroidered with the three golden buckles of House Buckler with a background of azure. Ser Davos stood as the doorway, panting after the long climb. His head was dripping with rainwater; his leather jerkin tight as he moved:

"Lady Melisandre" Ser Davos bowed. Melisandre licked the honey from her fingers.

"What is it, Ser Davos?"

"King Stannis has requested you!"

"You look cold, Ser Davos"

"Indeed, the men are considering snuffing the fires outside"

"Let them. These fires are not the only of R'hllor's!"

"Very well, m'lady" Davos bowed awkwardly again. He turned, but Melisandre called for him again "Yes, m'lady?"

"The Lord of Light watches over you, Ser Davos" she smiled "Don't be so timid in his presence; he is proud of his Onion Knight" Melisandre chuckled silently.

"Thank you, Lady Melisandre"

"He holds you dutifully for your slaying of the Knight of Flowers" she smiled again.

"King Stannis has praised me also" Davos turned to exit; and jogged down the stairs. Melisandre sighed, and took her cup of Arbor gold and drank it in one.

She stood; swept her red cloak together and stepped down the Red Tower. The silks flocked behind her as she walked down the dim and damp serpentine tower. The air was hazy; forcing Melisandre to make every breath count. She walked into a small, open air room where rain and darkness invaded. A group of soldiers sat around a small fire in the middle of the room; puffing and trying to keep warm. Melisandre wrapped the silks around her and approached the group. The soldiers looked at her, and muttered:

"Lady Melisandre"

"The Lord of Light granted you this fire. Are you grateful?" she asked. The group muttered between themselves. One with a greying beard that reached his chest decided to say:

"Fires are indeed a gift from R'hllor, Lady Melisandre". Melisandre nodded.

"The night is dark and full of terrors; and R'hllor protects us from those horrors" she smiled; and swept around in a flurry of reddened silk.

King Stannis waited in the dungeons of the keep; waiting astride from Lord Mace Tyrell and Ralph Buckler. Their wrists were chafing under the inner chains and buckles that attached their wrists and ankles to the cold, stone wall. Ralph Buckler was bloodied on the nose; his eyes puffy and hair charred. Lord Mace seemed almost elegant compared to him; his blonde hair still flowing long behind his back but a red, shallow gash opened his shirt from the right nipple to the left hip.

"Your Grace" Melisandre curtsied. Stannis stared at her; she noticed his hair was starting to grey, and that he hadn't shaved in around a month; so a beard was starting to grow and extend off his chin. Ser Davos Seaworth stood beside him; a bucket of water sat on the table

"This is Lord Mace Tyrell of Highgarden" he pointed his sword at Mace Tyrell's cheek "A traitor, to a man with no right" Lord Tyrell squealed when Stannis cut a gash into his cheek.

"I'm no traitor!" Mace squealed as Stannis cut in deeper.

"Your Grace!" Davos said. Stannis stopped and retrieved the dagger. Stannis breathed heavily from his nose as he walked; slamming his feet hard on the cement floor.

"These men are traitors to my cause, Ser Davos" Stannis snarled "My cause!" he shouted, throwing the dagger between Ralph and Mace's heads. Ralph Buckler began to pant; his eyes bloodshot and wide. "Where is the bastard?" Stannis growled at Lord Buckler. Lord Buckler quivered "Where is he!?"

"I don't know, my lord!" _He is about to shit himself_.

"You're speaking to the one true King of Westeros!" Davos put in. Stannis walked forward and received the dagger from the wall; wrenching on it furiously as he pulled it from the cracked stone.

"Thank you Ser Davos; but I don't believe your input is needed" he said, as he cut open Ralph Buckler's surcoat.

"What do you intend to do to him, My King?" Melisandre asked.

"Where is the bastard?" Stannis stated.

"I don't know!"

"I know you do!" Stannis shouted to his face as he put the dagger to Ralph's right nipple. He screamed, but spoke two words, a sort of question:

"Cedric Storm?" Stannis pushed into his nipple.

"Indeed" he pulled the knife back and wiped a sliver of blood away "Where is he?"

"I don't know" Stannis put the knife to Ralph's throat "Not in that way, Your Grace! We sent him off while you were raiding the villages. You may well have killed him already; as he may have gone to his mother. He was a squire here! King Robert sent his mother away after her breasts began to sag, with Cedric still at the breast" in his rage, Stannis sliced off his right nipple; leaving a river of blood to flow down his belly.

"I recognised a body with Robert's hair!" Stannis kicked over a stool next to Davos "I was so foolish!"

"There are many others with the King's blood, Your Grace!" Melisandre reminded him "There is a girl in the Vale of Arryn with the black hair; and the boy Edric Storm you once recognised as Robert's"

"Perfect!" Stannis stated "We can ride for Storm's End, destroying my brother and taking that irritable little wretch as King's blood!"

"Your Grace. You don't mean to kill the boy, do you?" Davos asked.

"All acts done for the Lord of Light will never count as sins, Ser Davos" Melisandre reminded him. _We will burn the boy_.

"What do you want with me, traitor" Mace Tyrell dared to say. Stannis turned, curled his hand into a fish and punched him across the face. A few bits of chipped teeth fell hard on the cement floor; blood following them.

"You will refer to me as, Your Grace!" Stannis breathed. Mace looked at him like a snake watches his prey; yet a wounded snake.

"I- will- never- betray Renly!" Stannis raised the knife to his nose, and cut at a nostril. Mace Tyrell remained defiant, ignoring the gush of blood.

"Only because your whore of a daughter is married to him" Mace raced forward to attack him; but the chains held him back.

"Margaery is no whore!"

"Maybe- but your son sleeps in the bed of Kings, with the King!" Stannis remarked "Or did- at least"

"Loras was murdered by your men!"

"A worthy sacrifice"

"Worthy? Is it worthy to hang a man from the castle walls: naked and mocked?"

"The men insisted to take the Knight of Flowers away from the flowers"

"You deserve to burn in the Seventh Hell!" Stannis swung a left punch into his cheek; no more teeth came out, but a fresh dollop of blood fell straight out in its place.

"The Usurper that sits on the Iron Throne deserves to; the Usurper of Storm's End deserves to; and the Usurper of the North deserves to"

"Fancy titles for fancy men"

Stannis turned to the table; took a flagon and poured some water into a transparent glass. He downed it in one, and turned back to Lord Mace.

"If you swear your banner-men to me; then I will spare everyone and anyone sworn to Highgarden"

"Never!" Stannis threw the glass at his head. The glass lodged in his skull and cheeks; blood and bone leaking onto the floor. A small, weepy tear leaked from his eye down his cheek.

"My King, I don't believe this will work" Melisandre said. Stannis turned to her, but quickly turned back. He brandished the dagger again, and began to cut at Mace Tyrell's stupid, blonde pubic hair-like beard.

"Are you trying to threaten me by cutting at my fucking beard?" Stannis stared at him with malevolence; and plunged the dagger through his finger. Mace burst into screams of pain; as Stannis drew the dagger into the fleshy part of his hand. "What's in it for me" Mace Tyrell panted.

"Your life; and your banner-men's life"

"You murdered most of my fucking infantry anyway!" Stannis plunged the dagger into his hand as a last resort. He left the dungeon as Mace Tyrell was left screaming; it was now that Melisandre noticed that Ralph Buckler had fainted.

Mace Tyrell had been reduced to a slobbering mess; so Melisandre walked forward and removed the dagger from his hand:

"Thank you, my lady" he whispered.

"Fire is the purest death" she told him.

Stannis had told her to win him over; and so she would. He sat across from her; as they ate a dinner prepared from the venison of the Kingswood and the trout from the Wendwater in the Red Tower. Two glasses of Dornish red was lain out for them; a flagon for anymore needed. Lord Mace trembled as he ate; and trembled more when he held his tankard. His wounds were patched over with bandages, mandrake root and wine over the bandage to clear the cuts. He flinched as he ate. Melisandre feared that blood was going down into his stomach when he ate.

"Are you bleeding within your mouth, Lord Mace?" she asked. He nodded. "Drink with the wine; it's a proven method in Asshai" Mace tried it. Even though he squirmed at the soggy bread and soaked trout, he no longer complained of blood.

"What do you want?" Mace asked.

"Peace, my friend. There is no hostility between us; there is no man behind the tapestry waiting with a knife" she giggled, slightly taking aback Lord Mace "A jape. I do believe your daughter has married Lord Renly Baratheon"

"A fine suitor! Capable of many great things"

"Indeed" Melisandre picked a pear from a selection of fruit and bit into it, the juice running down her chin. "I have seen your Margaery in my flames. A beautiful Queen she will become; but to whom I cannot decipher"

"So she will become a true Queen?"

"Yes; a beautiful one, with many sons and daughters"

"She detailed to me that she has not yet been able to bed King Renly" Melisandre smiled.

"Maybe it is not the Lord Renly she is to breed from. Many Kings roam the lands of Westeros, and many Kings roam the lands of Essos. Be it a Khal of the Dothraki, or a triarch from the Free City of Volantis; she will be a Queen" Melisandre placed the core of the pear on the table. She smiled and said: "Are you sure you agree to King Stannis' terms?" Mace Tyrell stared at his food solemnly, and shook his head. "No matter" she wiped the pear juice on a napkin.

Melisandre of Asshai stood, and walked to one of the brazier's around the Red Tower. She took a match from her robe, lit it over one of the many candles and threw it into the fire. It erupted into flames; and Melisandre saw strange blue signs within.

"Come her, my lord" Mace Tyrell did as he was bid. He limped as he walked; most likely from the shock "Look into the fire. You may see nothing; you may see a man sat upon a throne of iron. This may be the Usurper Joffrey; or the Lord Renly; or maybe one of their sons. They all sit upon the same throne of iron swords and shields. Does it matter who sits upon the throne, Lord Tyrell?"

"Of course!"

"And who do you believe should sit upon the Iron Throne?"

"The rightful King should"

"And who is the rightful King?"

"Joffrey is a bastard; and Renly is the younger brother. King Stannis"

"Very good: Lord Mace. I will pray to my fires for R'hllor to heal your wounds" she went to sat back her chair; as a selection of trout was still sitting untouched.


	11. Theon II

Lord Clement Piper's squire rode on a small mare with chestnut fur and a blonde mane. He was a small lad for his age. He seemed to have twenty years, and bore the flag of House Piper on his back: the lords of Pinkmaiden. The castle itself sat tall and mighty through the growing fog: atop of bank surrounding by a small forest. It sat ominously; small signal fires barely visible through the smoke and fog.

"What is it?" the King in the North asked; his direwolf howling beside him. Theon Greyjoy had always been off-put by the presence of creatures; especially when six direwolves roamed Winterfell before this damnable war.

Theon looked back at their baggage train; three fifths of all supplies from Riverrun were being brought with them; with two thousand oxen pulling the carts. Leyanna, Mama and Nalia sat seemingly miserable in a hog wagon; amongst the hay and pigs.

"Your Grace, Lord Piper has sent me to deliver the bread and salt" the squire retrieved a pale of bread and a mound of salt from his surcoat. Theon noticed a chainmail hauberk under his surcoat; so he grabbed Robb's attention:

"He where's armour!"

"Why do you wear armour?" Robb asked cautiously.

"No one can be sure of the roads, Your Grace" the squire stated "Brigands roam about, and who knows: the Brotherhood may be moving south"

"Old wives story" Robb stated. Theon touched his shoulder, making Robb turn to the Heir of Pyke:

"This is edging on for Lannister land, the Brotherhood are said to hate all Lannister's or their bannermen"

"Lord Clement wishes to accept you to his hall" the squire said "Please, take the bread and salt with earnest; a feast is waiting for you!"

His mouth full on salt; Theon Greyjoy rode into the courtyard of Pinkmaiden. Small tanner shops and smithies lined tight against the ancient stone walls; dripping with condensation. Moss and ivy grew into the cracks on stone and brick leading Theon's eyes to slates roofs of purple and indigo. Theon stabled his horse where Robb did: at the portcullis. Pinkmaiden was situated at the top of a cliff on the border of the Westerlands, but their allegiances lie with House Tully and the King in the North.

The squire was large; with busty red hair making him stand out below the banner of House Piper: a naked maiden dancing around swirls of gold on a field of azure. Theon found the sigil strangely erotic for embroidered cotton. A big man; fat with red hair not unlike his squire stood wobbling at the doors to the Main Hall.

"Lord Clement!" Robb called. The big man laughed:

"The King in the North!" his voice rumbled through the castle; growing louder as he approached "I'm sorry about your father: an honourable, just man with great intentions for the realm!"

"Thank you, Lord Piper"

"And this whelp! You're from Balon Greyjoy's loins" he laughed "Theon Greyjoy, I'll recognise those eyes anywhere! Is your father still trying to make those depressing moss isles an independent kingdom?"

"I don't believe so" Theon said. In truth, he didn't know: it had been around eleven years since he had seen his father. He could only just remember the waves crashing around the jagged rocks of Pyke; his uncle, Aeron, boisterous and hilarious in his drunken songs and his Uncle Euron crazy nevertheless. They called him Crow's Eye, for his hawk vision, ignoring his missing eye however.

"A queer one, aren't you Greyjoy?" Clement Piper laughed.

"Where is Ser Marq, Lord Clement?" Robb asked.

"He's at King's Landing" Clement said "He stayed after the Hand's Tourney and hasn't returned. That bitch, Cersei probably had his head lobbed off!"

"As long as you remain loyal!" Robb stated. Lord Clement chuckled and invited them into his Keep.

The walls were of spruce; logs lining the walls as foundations to the drafty roof. Dark purple sang colours of breaking night above the rafters: where ravens and pigeons roost. A small banquet was set up for the Northern host. _We were expected_. Candles rained orange light on tired, ragged faces and gleamed against battered, rusted steel protruding from the Northmen's scabbards. Old, fraying banners lined the walls of the same maiden; slowly enlarging as they approached the Lord's Seat; a fine throne engraved with gold and lumber (assumingly a gift from House Lannister). Dogs and other vermin sat sleeping or gnawing at old pieces of slobbered red meat.

Theon Greyjoy took his seat at the Lords table next to Robb; whom had took the Lord's seat as his highness implied. He took a selection of different cuts from a steaming duck recently delivered by a maid with apple breasts and slender figure. Theon beckoned her over; slapped her arse and took her onto his lap.

"I don't believe I've seen this lord before" she giggled "Where are you from?" she snaked her hand down Theon's breeches. He noticed Robb roll his eyes and take a slurp of wine; taking conversation with Lord Clement.

"I'm more interested in you!" Theon said "Your tongue sounds foreign. Tyrosh?"

"Lys" she cooed "Raised in those pleasure houses m'lord must have heard of before" her hair was golden; with green eyes and a tongue like silk "M'lord Marq had me when I was but a maid; he must of enjoyed me" she began to grind her hips as she stroked his pubic hair "so he bought me to serve him. But he found this other woman with the tongue of High Valyrian and big nipples. But you seem loyal" _Until I've had you_.

"What have you heard of the Brotherhood?" Robb asked Lord Clement. Lord Clement placed his bloody meat on the table again:

"The Brotherhood? They've been spotted near Acorn Hall; the Lady there has been real friendly with them: I forget her name"

"Is it true they're led by the Lightning Lord?"

"Aye. They say he can't die; but it's all old wives tales, and they're always a pile of shit!" Lord Clement downed a flagon of ale; burped loudly and sighed as the sun set fully through a circle glass above the hall doors.

Theon's breeches were beginning to scratch against his manhood; even though the maid had stopped her erotic act. She kissed around his stubble, neck and mouth; ever so often kissing the soft skin on his nose.

"I would dismiss you if you asked, Theon" King Robb Stark said. Theon smiled:

"Your Grace?" Theon asked. Robb nodded. Theon pinches the Lysene girl's ass. She jumped; Theon stood and took her around the neck with his arm. "Don't disturb" Theon told Robb. Robb held up his drink to his ward from Pyke; as Theon left up a serpentine staircase.

He reached his hand through her collar to feel the soft ripples of her nipples; which the stiff and had a strange orange tint to them. Theon kicked down the door; candle light streaming like fire into the tower and Theon's diluted pupils. The maid let the loose dress slip to the ground; she did a little twirl and led herself to the bed. Theon thought he saw the odd glint of silver under her cuff, but he decided to ignore it. Her breasts sagged ever so slightly as they were released, and bounced as she sat. Her muff was golden; her ass trimmed yet meaty. Theon removed his scratchy tunic and walked to the maid. She giggled as they circled his nipples and unlaced his breeches; taking his manhood in her hands and stroking it ever so:

"Lips are not for giggling" Theon said "Do your duty" she did so, taking him in her mouth. Theon sighed; and looked up at the ceiling. He traced the brick outlining; small purple shards were missing; probably fallen on the floor and forgotten.

Theon grimaced. A sharp pain shot through his calf; through his knee and his groin. The woman was digging her nails into his leg; blood staining her manicured nails and long, bony fingers. He wrenched her hand away and kept it away. She was looking up at him; her green eyes piercing his grey ones. _Lannister eyes_. The golden hair glittered demons in the candle light. _Lannister hair_. She yanked her arm from his grasp; grabbed him and threw him around the best post onto the sheets. True fear raced through Theon Greyjoy as she took some of the sheets; tied it around the bedside table legs and held him there. He squirmed and shook as she retrieved a dagger from the dress.

"Who are you?" he cried.

"Talia Lannister. Sister to Cersei and Jaime Lannister!" she snarled.

"What?"

"Confused, Greyjoy?" she said as she gathered a black cloak from the closet and draped it over her bouncing breasts "Good". She lumbered onto the bed and held the knife at his throat "A cocky one, aren't you?" she said; pressing her wet cunt onto his cock. "A gift to remember me by" she stroked her wetness over his member, stood against and cut a thin, shallow line down his shaft; blood pouring from the wound. Theon watched as his eyes screamed in pain as she opened the ominous tower windows: allowing rain to lash inside. She jumped from the window into nothing.


	12. Sansa I

Blood gushed from between her legs when she awoke. Screams ricocheted through Sansa Stark's bedchamber; awakening Senelle; her handmaiden. Dawn brokered through the flying drapes as red stained her white, silken bed sheets. Senelle kept her down as she wet a towel and bandaged it around her legs and cunt:

"Don't be scared, m'lady" she said, with a sense of harshness "'T'is only your moon blood"

"Please don't tell the Queen!" Sansa stressed. Who knows what would happen after Joffrey found out: or after her moon blood stopped.

"Sorry, m'lady, but the Queen wishes to wed you to His Grace whence your moon blood stops" Sansa gulped. She forgot about the wedding. All the pain and torture had clouded her mind; and thus she had forgotten of her betrothal to her abuser.

"So, when shall it be?"

"A few days, maybe a week" Senelle said, garbing her into a dress of green and red "You may be a quick bleeder and be able to wed the King by the moon's turn!" the moons next turning was within the week, Sansa realised, but by then her mind was clouded and she was being led to the Queen's chambers in Maegor's. _Lord Tyrion would be able to stop this_. But he couldn't. The Imp was riding to Riverrun to rescue the Kingslayer with a host of twenty men, his sworn sword and Sansa's past handmaiden. She was now left with Senelle; one of Cersei's girls.

Cersei sat reading a letter; a raven sat perched on her window ledge. She was smiling ominously; something must have happened. She folded a letter and turned to Sansa:

"Yes, little dove?" she said softly. Sansa burst into tears; the salt mixing into the saliva in her mouth.

"Her moon blood: Your Grace!" Senelle said for her.

"Perfect" Cersei stood from the ornate, gleaming chair and walked over to look Sansa in the eye "You are now a woman, little dove" she smiled awkwardly, pressing Sansa's shoulder ever so forcefully. Sansa squirmed at her grasp, but Cersei continued "Do you know what that means now?" she dismissed Senelle; who did so accordingly. She invited Sansa to sit across from her on a chair near the terrace to allow the sun shine on her auburn hair.

"It means I can have Joffrey's babies" Sansa could feel the tears bubbling behind the eyes when she said this. She feared that Joffrey would be forceful in the marriage bed, but Cersei still continued:

"Indeed; but no need to worry, little dove" Sansa's eyes lightened when she said this, but was let down when Cersei continued "I will forbid him from having you before your consummation. Don't worry, I'm sure he won't be as remorseless as Robert"

"Do you miss Robert?" Sansa asked. Cersei considered for a moment, but then decided to say: "You do not have to love Joffrey; I didn't love Robert originally"

"But _did_ you love Robert?" Cersei shook her head:

"The only time he ever spoke to me when he whispered your aunt's name into my ear as he had me" she looked at her feet "_Lyanna_ he whispered, as if I was that Stark bitch. I don't think he noticed the golden fucking hair or the green fucking eyes. He would never stop thinking about his precious wolf" Cersei took a match and struck it against the table. The match illumed in fire, illuminating the locks of hair on Cersei's shoulders which fell down into her cleavage. Wounds shaped like teeth seemed to snake from her nipple to the rim; disturbing Sansa slightly "Love is like fire, little dove. At first it's wonderful; amazing in its first whiff of life" she picked up the letter "but soon" she threw the letter onto the candle "it envelopes everything you've ever known until it leaves you as a withering pulp of your former self" she watched the letter burn as it made her eyes envelope in a forest of fire "no, I didn't love Robert. And I don't expect you to love Joffrey" she turned back to Sansa "do your duty in the marriage bed; carry his babes in your womb, wait for them to grow and then birth them. It is all I ask of you. I know you despise Joffrey, but you will love his children; as they are your own. I admit, Joffrey is a monster, but I love him nonetheless"

"What will you do in return?" Sansa dared to ask.

"I will try to stop his rants and torture of you, little dove. I now remember what you must be going through" a tear wept down Cersei Lannister's cheek "Leave me" she whispered.


	13. Renly II

Images of his lost love clouded his dreams. Loras; with his curly hair and gracious smile; riding the King's Tourney against the Mountain. His armour had gleamed against the late summer sun. Renly's face had burst with pride when he struck Ser Gregor Clegane down from his horse; but his heart had sunk when the Mountain had brandished his long sword to strike him down.

Old memories: long and forgotten in the recesses of his mind. Dark and clouded: with images of death and each of the Seven Hells parading in his memories. Loss and grief were his main aspects.

He awoke; slowly and stiff with sand in his eyes. Moonlight dropped harshly into the bedchamber in Storm's End: disturbing him in his moment of grief. King Renly stood from his empty bed. He had insisted that Margaery sleep in a separate bedchamber to his own with her handmaidens. The shadows around him mocked his nakedness; remarking how his manhood, his chest and his would never be loved again. They resembled Loras; the suits of armour that had haunted this bedchamber since his youth. The rain was hammering against his window yet again, like death trying to mock him at his loss.

"Fuck you; you're all half-arsed pricks!" Renly snapped at the rain. His shouts echoed through the fortress, ricocheting through stony walls and sunken salt rock. _Let them come, I don't care_. Old maester Jurne came lumbering through the doorway with haste; a stack of scrolls and quills falling from his grasp.

"Is everything okay, Your Grace?" Jurne asked. His smile was considerate, his eyes small and beady yet wanting to help him. "Do you wish me to garb you, Your Grace? There is a terrible draft" he smiled.

"Sorry, Maester Jurne. Fetch some wine and honeyed bread, and yes, garb me. A nightgown, with room to breathe"

"Yes, Your Grace!" Jurne pointed to the bed with his scrolls. Renly nodded. The maester left the scrolls and shuffled through the doorway. There was a draft, Renly realised, as cold bit at his ankles and toes; the frost under the floorboards creeping up and into his toes.

Jurne returned smiling and bundling a plate of wine and honeyed bread; a fresh garb of white cotton and silks parting around where the crotch would lie.

"Does Lady Margaery know of my request?" Renly asked. Jurne laughed, placed the beverages on the bedside table. He brought the garb to Renly and draped it around his arms and shoulders. He tied it across his chest; gathered some trousers from the birch drawer and placed them around the King's waist.

"She is not Varys!" Jurne claimed.

"What of the men?" Renly asked "Resources"

"Lord Randyll has been sent with our final ships to gather resources from Tarth. But, I fear that our scouts have spotted Stannis' men burning hostages as the red woman screams her chants and prayers. Lord Ralph Buckler may have been burned; along with his wife" Jurne sighed "You're losing this war, Your Grace" he admitted, taking a slice of bread and handing it to Renly. The honey slivered down his throat; sending a slight of optimism through his consciousness "If Stannis breaches the walls of this fortress; you may not live to see the sunlight on whichever dawn that may be"

"How do you pose to defeat Stannis then?"

"Hope for the Young Wolf to bypass the Westerlands and ride to our aid" Renly gulped, downing his glass of Dornish Red.

"Careful with that, Your Grace. We're running low on stock"

"Does it matter, maester Jurne? We're all dead anyway"

Loras stood before her: beautiful in her grace and natural beauty. She looked just like him; the Tyrell eyes, the Tyrell hair. _If I can't have him..._ Renly considered as he sat against his bed. Maester Jurne had been delivering him food for the past week. Over this time, he had fetched for Lady Catelyn to deliver news from King Robb, but her tales from the King in the North were un-detailed and scarce of any relevant information.

However, she was his last hope: his Queen, as he was her King. A child would cement his claim. Stannis was old, his only living seed a girl who is weak and sick with greyscale, only eligible for Queen-ship under Dornish law. He _is _the rightful King! Not Stannis: nor Joffrey: nor Daenerys Targaryen or any other applicants!

"My King?" she said weakly. _The death of her brother has troubled her deeply_.

"Margaery" he replied. _How to start it_? She was garbed in a thick, woollen, white dress with the Tyrell insignia engraved over her breast. The dress parted down her breasts; showing a cleavage puffed up by a corset beneath. Her breath and smile must be struggled because of this.

"When do you believe Stannis will arrive, my King?"

"On the morrow" he stated from the top of his head "It took me little over a half day to ride from Bronzegate after the attack" tears stifled between his eyes; but they were stopped when Margaery took him in a tight hug.

"Please, Your Grace" she whispered in his ear. Renly moved to look into her eyes. Brown; like Loras'.

"I-"

"You loved him, didn't you?"

"Yes" Renly replied. Margaery smiled:

"Then do his memory justice"

They embraced: awkwardly at first. Renly squirmed as she pressed closer, while she stroked his Baratheon black hair. Her nipples were hard, he senses, giving his cock a slight wonder he had not felt since he had first had Loras. Margaery fumbled at his nightgown, his terrible odour revealed to the world. Margaery grimaced, smiled, and fetched a flower, which was growing fresh in a small flagon on the table.

She squeezed the juices from the flower over Renly's body; threw the dead carcass to the floor and unlaced her gown. The rims of her breasts sat heaving over the breast cups; turning red raw as friction increased. She turned; showing the laces of her corset to her King. _It is a King's duty_. Renly pulled on the first lace, nervously at first but became more confident with each pull

He took a breast in each hand; making his Queen giggle as her nipples erected in his palm. _Soft and tender_. He gripped them between two fingers and pulled; making Margaery groan, making her gutsy. The folds of her dress ruffled elegantly when she lifted them up. _Loras' legs, yet slimmer_.

He fell softly onto the old, crinkling mattress when she pushed him down. She stripped herself of all clothing and unlaced his breeches. To Renly's surprise, his cock was stiffening.

"For once, my King!" Margaery giggled, as she mounted him and took him. _A lot softer than having Loras_.


	14. Sansa II

Dark wings, dark words, is what her mother always told her. If only she knew that, her own words would spread her brother's dark wings. Lady Catelyn, her blue eyes glaring with hate, clawed at Sansa's face: as Joffrey stood laughing behind her.

Her sister, Arya, stood dead, hanging from a long, threaded rope stringing from infinity: her half-brother, Jon, stood with eyes glowing a cold blue with skin pale white glowing in the darkness.

Bran stood mutilating with wings black as coal; a third eye sat watching from his tongue as crows bit at his festering skin and two remaining eyes.

Her father stood watching over her with no head upon his shoulders; a rim of bone poking from the gash on his neck. The eyes sat grey and dim; the old Stark hair slowly turning red.

"You caused this!" Catelyn screamed; as blood ran down her long, Tully fingers onto old, festering, white hands. Catelyn's eyes were red as blood, a deep gash across her throat. Her cheeks hollow and empty, strings of muscle and skin clinging them together. Screams and wails came from what she assumed to be her Lady Mother, but what was once Catelyn Tully was no more.

The laughs of her King came from behind, as Catelyn's body fell to the side in a festering heap; eyes cold and lifeless. It was now that Sansa's realised she was naked, as Joffrey clawed into her breasts and broke through her womb; choking as his cock escaped through her mouth. She clawed away bits of skin and blood, until she was a quivering, flayed heap of what once was.

"It envelopes everything you've ever known until it leaves you as a withering pulp of your former self" the voice of the Queen Regent echoed through her skull as Sansa Stark's bones turned bleached and dusty.

She awoke in a cold sweat. Sweat beaded from her pores; and cold and clammy were her palms. The handmaiden she had requested to be her bedmaid was absent at her side. _Most likely beheaded by Cersei_. The fire was roaring in her hearth, and a mannequin stood beside it. A beautiful dress, of Myrish lace with golden frills embedded into the cuffs. It was green; with a red sash around the right shoulder. The arms were long and frilly, and a tiara stood indigo and gleaming with a red ruby on the crest.

Sansa stood; garbed in a night gown left on a chair and walked to the dress. It was soft, and beautiful, she thought. _But it is the end of me_. Tears welled behind her eyes; stifled back under by her will for strength.

The door creaked open behind her. Senelle swept in with silks flowing and her orange hair straying long down her back.

"You slept in!" Senelle complained; as she stripped Sansa and fetched a corset and some small clothes from the drawer. "Dress, quickly!" Senelle stressed "You're lucky that the breakfast has been cancelled since the Young Wolf rides the Kingsroad, so food has been slowed. We're barely feeding the Small Council never mind the Red Keep!"_Just the Red Keep?_ Is what Sansa wanted to say, experience has taught her well!

Sansa dragged the small clothes around her waist; as Senelle laced the corset to her belly and back. Her breasts dug into her ribs as breath escaped her; bringing a certain pain to add to her anxiety.

The dress sat nicely around her shoulders; making her feel free but for the tight knots throughout her body. For the first time in what felt like forever; the direwolf of House Stark was embezzled on her breast._I used to hate the damn thing. But now it gives me strength_. The Stark's only knelt to those they knew they could not defeat; as demonstrated at the Field of Fire with King Torrhen Stark, the King Who Knelt.

The member of the Kingsguard whom was to escort her to her litter was Ser Arys Oakheart; making her heart flutter ever so lightly. He had light brown hair and a comely face, and was gentle as he dared with the beatings Joffrey ordered.

"My lady" his smile was forced: she could tell. He held out an arm for her, and Sansa took it gladly.

The halls were deadly silent; vacant of all life, even whisperers. Ser Arys' armour clanked as he walked; echoing through the halls and stairwells. Through a window, Sansa glimpsed a procession of lords and ladies in the courtyard outside Maegor's; her King standing out with his golden hair and golden crown and golden sash. _Everything's golden_. Arys turned quickly at a turret and led her down into the courtyard.

The litter was small and golden; red light beaming through silken drapes shadowed by gruff men in gleaming armour with soiled white cloaks on their backs. It wasn't until they were part way down Aegon's High Hill that she realised Cersei Lannister sat across from her. Cersei's eyes were drooping and puffy, red and swollen blending into a strange brown. Her hair was almost kempt, loose strands standing out against the beautiful, silken straights:

"Greetings, little dove" her voice was slurred, a wine glass slipping half full from her grasp. She chuckled "Don't worry, I requested your presence in this litter"

"Are you drunk, Your Grace?" Sansa asked. Cersei Lannister burst into insane laughter:

"Of course!" she leaned back on her pillows "How would you feel when you're giving your son away to some woman!?"

"Some woman?" Sansa gulped "Your Grace, you arranged this marriage with Joffrey!"

"You're finally telling the truth!"

"The truth, Your Grace?"

"Yes: that this world is full of bastards trying to marry more bastards to selfish whores! Firstly, I was to be married to Prince Rhaegar, the woman's dream, I'll tell you! But that bitch Elia Martell stole him and I was left with Robert. I wish I could have had him once and had experienced a dragon take his prey. It is a pity, this way. Us women cannot have what we want, and we never can" Cersei belched "Oh, but of course; men can have any women they choose. There's an entire street in this fucking city dedicated to it. It was always Robert's favourite" she took a gulp of wine: thick Dornish red "You may count yourself lucky if Joffrey goes down this path. However, he may discard you and take you only for sons and daughters. The comfort of a bedmaid is pleasant, I will agree. But a woman's tongue against a nipple is nothing but for a man's cock inside you"

"What do you do now, Your Grace? You have no husband; and you claim that you- your, um"

"Cousins, Kingsguard, Hedge Knights. They'll all listen to me when I removed my dress and threaten them with execution" she finished her wine and threw it from the litter. "But nothing is like a brother's touch" she whispered, as she drifted into a light sleep. _It can't be. Not Tyrion_.

Ser Arys lead her to the High Septon across Baelor's Sept. Joffrey stood tall and terrifying a to the High Septon: a fat man with pointless sweat on his thinning hair. Her King held a flag of Lannister gold and crimson with the lion etched at the centre. Butterflies nipped at her lungs and heart as she stood across from King Joffrey. She looked across the Sept: Cersei stood leaning against Ser Mandon Moore, Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella like birds around her. The Spider, Varys, stood innocent yet naïve in the crowd-watching Sansa's movements as if she was one of significance (reminiscent of one Petyr Baelish).

Joffrey took both her hands: softly yet roughly. _He hates me; he's been forced into this as well as me_.

"The Seven watch over us" the High Septon mumbled "Joffrey of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister; Sansa of the House Stark" Joffrey seemed tempted to spit "We are united today to watch the unison and merriment of these two noble houses" the High Septon looked down, as if remembering what to say:

"In the Light of the Father, Warrior and Smith: in the Light of the Mother, Maiden and Crone, and in the watchful gaze of the Stranger, the Light of the Seven accepts the unison of these houses" he beckoned Sansa and Joffrey to face each other.

"Father" they both uttered: Sansa feeling the sick coiling in her stomach "Warrior, Smith "tears bubbled behind her eyes "Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger"

"The cloak" the High Septon mumbled. Sansa turned and knelt down, as Joffrey's dog handed him the faded cloak of House Lannister. _Why me? _"You are now unified in the sight of Gods and Men!" the High Septon called. _He's drunk. _Applause echoed about the room, but from Varys; who stood solemn and undignified. Joffrey placed his lips over Sansa, taking her by surprise.

It seemed to last years, past the approaching Long Night and the return of summer, winter, summer, winter, summer: Sansa broke away before this. Joffrey glared at her menacingly; but turned happily to the cheering crowd.

The entertainer's were a mummer's troupe from Lys, Varys had said to her. Garbed in queer clothing with beards a rainbow of colours: the mummers danced, swung and mocked in their many tongues through many different ridiculous ways. King Joffrey laughed; as he did when he was drunk, pointing and mocking their native colours and Lysene tongue.

"Wife; this is the purity of the realm. No fucking idiotic Red God worshippers like a these fucks"

"That isn't very respectful, my King" Sansa dared to reply: Joffrey grabbed her between her cheeks:

"What did you just say, bitch?"

"Begging your pardon, my King!" tears rolled down Sansa's face, landing gently on Joffrey's hand:

"Tears-?"

"Joffrey!" Queen Cersei called; who sat next to Sansa "Lady Sansa is your Queen now, you need to show a thimble of respect, at least" she slurred.

"Yes, Mother" Joffrey growled, watching the Lysene again.

"You're a Queen, Sansa" Cersei said "How do you feel?"

"Terrified" Sansa admitted.

"Of your duties?" Sansa shook her head "A Queen has no real duties other than child bearing. Do your duty to your King, as I did with Robert" she downed a flagon of wine "More wine!" she held her hand out for Lancel to pour more wine. When Lancel reached her; Cersei grabbed his crimson cuff and held his ear to her mouth. She whispered something that seemed to take Lancel by surprise. Lancel Lannister scurried from the hall, leaving the jug in the hands a handmaiden. Cersei smirked.

The procession filed an entire corridor of Maegor's. Lords and ladies turned vile and animalistic as they tore at Sansa Stark's clothing and groped her released breasts. Sansa Stark was almost when they were dropped into the King's bedchamber and locked inside.

Joffrey continued to strip at his own accord. The hair around his cock was golden, long compared to the minute thing that he called his member.

"Aren't you disrobing?" Joffrey asked, almost sympathetically. Sansa submitted, unlaced the rest of her corset and let it drop to the floor. Joffrey walked to her and began the circle her nipples, squeezing her breasts to make her squeal. "I do believe I've seen these plenty of times, Lady Sansa". Stifling the tears, Sansa removed her dress; Joffrey's eyes glowed at her cunt. He placed two fingers underneath. Her cunt moistened, delighting Joffrey: "Bend over" tears fell down Sansa's face "why do you cry?" Sansa shook away the tears and walked to the bed, but turned:

"No!"

"What?"

"No!" Joffrey leapt at her, throwing her down to the bed. Sansa resisted; slapping him across the face. Joffrey screamed, and punched her. Only a slight cut. Joffrey tried to knock away her legs and enter her, but she leapt from his grasp. "Bitch!" he clambered over the bed to chase Sansa "Kingsguard!".

Two Kingsguard, garbed in thick, shining plate armour, their white cloaks blowing in the wind, entered the room.

"Chain her!" Joffrey ordered. The Kingsguard grabbed Sansa by the hands and dragged her to the bed, kicking and screaming. One lowered the chain that lie above Joffrey's bed and chained both her wrists to it. "Leave us" Joffrey ordered. Sansa glanced over to the crossbow:

"Please, no, Your Grace!" she pleaded. Joffrey noticed her gaze, and wandered over to where her blue eyes lie:

"This?" Joffrey asked "oh no; you're just too much fun!" Joffrey entered his wardrobe and gathered a belt from inside.

"No, please; Your Grace!" Joffrey stretched the belt out and hit it across her arse with a force to break her. Sansa squealed in pain as he continued, lashing her across the belly, arse, legs and breasts: tears lashing against her raw body.

"Do you understand now, bitch?" Joffrey growled. Sansa nodded weakly. Joffrey chuckled "Now will you bend over?"

"If you will have me; look into my eyes" Sansa dared to say.

"Agreed" Sansa's eyes opened in shock. _He agreed!_ "Kingsguard!" the two Kingsguard: which Sansa now recognised as Ser Arys and the Hound. They untied her from her shackles; Arys even rubbing her wrists to softness. The two helped her down and laid her down across the bed. The Hound turned to Joffrey, who beckoned him to do something. The butterflies returned.

Ser Arys and Sandor Clegane grabbed her by the wrists and retrieved two shackles from behind the bed:

"Your Grace!"

"I can have you running again can I?" the shackles cut into her wrists, but before she could agree on something the soiled knights left the chamber. Joffrey clambered over the bed and stroked his member for a moment. It hardened quickly: Sansa dreading the hesitation. He hovered before her maidenhead; as he fiddled at her breasts:

"Please!" Joffrey picked up her legs and heaved them over his shoulders. His cock pressed into her, slowly breaking away the final shards of her childhood, blood seething across the sheets. Joffrey grunted as he thrust, loosening her inside.

"I believe we shall do this each night" Joffrey claimed, reaching his full potential and quickening pace._Please no_. She feared blood leaking from opening wounds "The flogging has made you loyal. But if you do that again!" he squeezed a nipple between thumb and forefinger tightly "I shall flog you through the streets of King's Landing" his face began to tense "and allow anyone who so desires" he spilled his seed, and fell onto a breast "to have you..."


End file.
